The Rough Draft season 1
by Marc Vun Kannon
Summary: The beginning of a revision of Seasons 3&5 based closely on canon. Driven by a sense of duty, Chuck becomes a spy, but Sarah remains by his side, determined that he will always remain Chuck. A description of the whole Rough Draft concept is contained in the first A/N. This story is and will always be Charah. Oathbreaker is a revision of The Other Guy.
1. Benchwarmer

**A/N** Back when I was writing nine2five season 3, I had the idea that canon S5 was originally meant to be the follow-up to S3. Chuck would kill Shaw in one episode, an act which would cripple the functioning of the Intersect in him, and lead us into Carmichael Industries and the spies that care. I called this version of the story the Rough Draft. When the audience rejected S3 so profoundly, I believe they quickly created the back 6 and all of S4, pushing the original follow-up season out to become S5.

This story will try to create the Rough Draft version, but it will do so in a way that also tries to make the story a worthy follow-up to S1 and S2. S1 and S2 were romantic comedies with a strong spy theme. S2 ended with Chuck downloading the new Intersect and gaining the skills to be a spy, so when they started S3 they had a choice, and I think they made a bad one. They tried to jettison the romance and still keep the humor, but they couldn't do that and still have Chuck as a spy. His humor was in his innocence and now he was no longer innocent, so they made him a spy fool, rather than the fish out of water he had been. In my version of the Rough Draft I'm going to go the other way, dropping a lot of the 'humor' in favor of the romance, and the dramatic tension it has with Chuck's development as a spy. Let the humor come from other fish realizing they're now swimming in his pond.

* * *

The henchman pulled the bag from Chuck's head, mussing up the curls. Chuck glanced his way, resolving to make him pay for that. Only Sarah would ever get to muss up his curls. The man was only an underling, though. Someone larger and fatter sat across from Chuck, someone he'd have to go through, before he could enforce her prerogatives.

Chuck knew quite a lot about him, his likes–torture and pierogies, more or less in that order–and his dislikes, such as peaceful negotiations. "Agent Charles," said Mr. Bigger-and-Fatter, a/k/a Yuri, underboss for this region.

 _Still there._ That little hitch in his mind, whenever someone called him by a name that wasn't truly his. "Call me Charles." That was always better, his name, if not his nature. They always thought he was being friendly with the invitation, unaware that he was using the truth as a better class of lie. "You have something that belongs to my boss. That case," he said calmly, indicating the silver briefcase with a motion of his head. "I would like you to give it to me. Please." The 'please' was a good touch, he knew. Guys like this never took 'please' the right way at all.

"You show up with no gun," said the underboss, playing it up for his crowd of henchmen, "And 'please', and what? I am supposed to quiver in fear?"

That would be the smarter move. Only the strongest of predators has the luxury of saying 'please'. In this context 'please' was a threat. Yuri didn't strike Chuck as being very smart. He decided to be less subtle. "Give me the case, _or else,_ " he said, tilting his body forward.

Yuri had henchmen to impress. "Or else what?" he asked rhetorically, even though he couldn't spell 'rhetorically'. "Or else I do this?" He pulled his gun and took aim at the unarmed man across from him.

Chuck wasn't really unarmed, of course. It's just that none of the guns in the room were in his hands yet. His eyes flickered, left, right, left. "No," said Chuck. "I was thinking something like this." He lunged toward Yuri, grabbing the gun and twisting it out of line with his body. As tall as he was, he could easily push Yuri's hand against the bare bulb, and the hand holding the gun flinched open just enough for Chuck to pull it from his grasp.

"Cool, cool, cool," he shouted, Yuri's gun out and aimed before any of the bodyguards could react. "On the ground, nice and easy." They dropped their guns on the floor, and he looked at the boss. "Hand me the case. After that, it's pierogi time."

Underbosses don't stay underbosses very long by letting valuable property go. "No." Yuri knew that, even if Mr. Charles apparently didn't. "So do it," he said, moving forward. "Shoot me."

"Don't mess with me, Yuri."

Yuri was less than impressed. "Get him," he ordered, and the disarmed henchmen moved in.

* * *

Thirty seconds later Chuck was in the street, his face throbbing a bit from a lucky punch. He raised his transmitter to his mouth. "Where's my exit?"

"Chopper's inbound."

 _They couldn't have told me that while I was upstairs?_ He scanned the buildings around him for the highest roof, and ran to that building, mounting the outside railings with ears alert. He heard nothing inbound. "I could really use that chopper."

"The chopper's too far. There's a line on the roof that leads to the next building. Zipline across. We'll find you."

 _Great, now no chopper either?_ Probably an 'everything goes wrong' scenario, testing his improv skills. Chuck looked up to the roof. No convenient ladders, just semi-convenient stonework. "I got this."

* * *

"Terminate the simulation," said General Beckman. Lights flashed on, illuminating the nighttime scene as seemingly dozens of people appeared out of nowhere, undoing whatever he and the bad guys had done. "Chuck, what was that?"

Chuck lifted the strap to the silver case over his head, handing it off to whoever was in charge of the props. "That was me retrieving the case, General."

"You were told to zipline across to the other roof."

"I did."

" _After_ doing what you did to Yuri. You know how he feels about high places."

Chuck wiped his hand on his jacket. "I do now."

"We'll be lucky if we can get him back after this." Beckman shook her head, and turned to walk away from the crowd. "Most people zipline with a belt."

"These pants are too big," said Chuck, reaching under his clothes to undo wires as he walked. "Not to mention that a cable that rough might have cut through a belt before I got across."

Good thinking, and even true, once or twice. "So you used his gun instead? Shoot him, no, slide across a cable, yes?"

"It worked, didn't it?"

"Chuck–" Beckman sounded remarkably like Casey to Chuck at that moment. Assuming Casey still sounded like that. It had been a while. "Did you flash even once during this exercise?"

He'd just handed off his telemetry sensors to a technician. She had to know the answer to that question. "No, General."

"We've spent millions getting you up and running as our new Intersect agent," said Beckman, with a sigh of defeat. "It's not working."

"My dad can help," said Chuck, "He built the computer."

"The problem is not with the computer." Beckman turned to face him squarely. "It's with you. The Intersect 2.0 was designed to go into a real spy, like Bryce Larkin. Someone in complete control of their feelings."

"I'm in control," said Chuck.

"No, Chuck, you're not. You can't control what you don't have, and according to our instruments you aren't spiking a single band, you're just…going through the motions. You flashed only as long as it took you to learn a skill, and then you stopped. You were already smarter and knew more than most of the instructors."

Chuck shrugged. "What can I say, Casey and Sarah were good role models."

Of course Beckman agreed, but she was on a roll. "If you were an ordinary agent I'd be thrilled, but as an Intersect agent you're a complete failure."

Chuck began to have an emotional response, but he controlled it. The Intersect was the only reason he was here. He could think of half a dozen things he'd rather be doing right now than this. "So what are you saying, General?"

Her voice was flat, final. "We're done here. Our Los Angeles field unit will keep an eye on you until a decision can be made regarding your status."

Chuck was stunned. This wasn't the way he'd expected this conversation to go at all. "Hold on a second, there. You're firing me?"

"Of course not, 'Agent Carmichael'. I'm just not throwing more good money after bad. You're a top-flight spy, Chuck, but until we can figure out how to make you use the Intersect properly you're worse than useless. Go home, sit on your bench. We'll call you."

* * *

In the air, on the way back home…

" _Go home. Tell your sister you're going on a trip to Europe. Six weeks."_ Chuck snorted into his watered drink. It hadn't taken him more than five weeks to break this latest mold. He'd have to adjust his cover story, too. Of course Ellie wanted to know the who-what-where of this little 'trip to Europe', and now he had to scale it down, but in a good way.

" _Where are we really going?"_ It never occurred to him to zip his lips in the presence of all the need-to-knows restocking the base, since they were keeping it open now. Casey and Sarah were good role models for keeping their mouths shut, but somehow he'd never picked up that trick.

Casey gave his question the answer it deserved. _"A red-site training facility."_

In hindsight Chuck saw all the worker bees take the hint. Not at the time, though. _"Training for what?"_

Casey waited until the last of the low-ranks cleared the room. _"For you, moron. The new Intersect. They're gonna train you and turn you into a super-spy."_

Except they weren't. They were going to try to train him to be a spy, assuming he already had the super built in, and they were less than thrilled to find out that wasn't the case.

Just like Sarah had been less than thrilled about the rest of it. At least she looked that way. It may have been the lighting in Castle, not at all flattering. _"Did Casey tell you they're moving me to a facility? I'm gonna be a spy."_

She looked happier when she was getting ready to leave with Bryce. _"I know. I heard. Come on."_

" _What's the matter?"_

" _If you go, you're going to be a spy for the rest of your life. Every city is going to be a new mission, a new identity. You're not going to be the same person."_

Not that he'd really liked the person she was used to, not then and especially not now. All girlish screams and 'stay in the car, Chuck'. _"Yeah, that's a great thing."_ Over the course of the training, he realized he'd been contributing all along, so yeah, it had been a great thing, in a way.

" _Chuck, listen. We could–"_

" _We could what?"_ He wondered now what she might have said, or never said, if he hadn't pushed her just then.

" _We could run. Together, you and me. We could go now and never look back."_

" _Are you serious?"_ He closed his eyes at that memory, his ridiculously innocent question. How could she have been anything but serious, to offer so much? Risk so much.

" _I have some money saved up."_ Chuck snorted again, at the understatement. It had to be more than 'some', if she'd taken the same classes he'd taken." _I'd get us some new identities, create an escape route. Go to the training facility in Prague, meet me at the Nadrazi Street station in three weeks time at 7:00, and then I can figure the rest out later."_

Even then he'd noticed something wrong, heard little alarm bells, too far off and too quiet to do much good at the time, but he patted himself on the back now. _"What are you saying?"_

" _I'm saying I want to be a real person again. With you. This is what you want, right? I mean, this is it, Chuck. Will you run away with me?"_

He thought he smiled. She'd been smiling, so he must have been smiling too. _"Yeah."_ God, he was such an idiot.

* * *

Going home wasn't as simple as just going home, of course. He'd completed the course, passed all the requirements to become an agent. "Congratulations, Agent Carmichael."

He wasn't active, though, and the complications in his paperwork (ID, but no gun, not that he wanted one) meant he caught up on his sleep. When he got off the plane in Burbank he was even alert, which was good, since it meant he wouldn't have to get a lift from Ellie. Not that he would have minded the lift but he could do without the interrogation he knew would come with it. He'd rather have signed up for the advanced Interrogation Resistance course than faced her. Although, now that he thought about it, they were practically the same thing.

He could escape from IR, though.

Since he was alone, he drove by the LA field office to check in, but there was no agent there to check in with. They were out, backstopping an op. He would have to go to Castle. At least it was on the way.

Castle was still situated under the Orange Orange and the Buy More, so he parked behind the former, to prevent the nebulous black magic of the latter from somehow spotting him and dragging him back behind the Nerd Herd desk. The building was closed, though. Was everybody on the op?

He pressed his hand against the ID plate by the rear entrance, but his biometrics hadn't been entered into the system. Again. Yet.

He went back in the car and called the number they'd given him in LA. "Agent Smith," said a woman's voice, sounding bored, angry, and overworked all at once.

"Hi, this is Agent Carmichael," said Chuck. "I'm supposed to check in at Castle, but there's no one here."

"There wouldn't be, would there," she snapped. "Agent Walker's swimming again. I'll mark you down, Carmichael, but you'll have to wait until tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you–"

She hung up on him.

* * *

Chuck went home. Ellie wasn't there, but she was stockpiling already, even though he wasn't supposed to return for another week. His room was just as he left it, so he put his case on the bed and went to get something to eat.

He was sitting in his favorite chair, body, heart, and mind stuffed to repletion with Ellie leftovers, when the front door rattled. He was subduing his reflex to move to an attack position when his sister and Devon came in together. "Chuck?" she said in shock.

Devon was tall enough to see over her head. "Yo, Chuckster," he boomed jovially. "We weren't expecting you until next week."

"Hey sis, Devon," said Chuck, making sure to use less than his full strength when hugging her or high-fiving him. "Guess who holds the new record for completing the training course."

"Awesome!" said Devon, but since he'd just high-fived his bro he didn't do it again.

"You are looking at the newest Systems Admin for the Tektel Corporation," said Chuck proudly.

Bright smiles faded. "Oh," said Ellie.

"What's the matter?" asked Chuck, looking and sounding flustered. He'd had to practice.

"Dude, it's been all over the news," said Devon. "Tektel got raided by the FBI, all their offices. The stock's cratered, the company's dead, bro."

"Oh," said Chuck, trying to sound surprised and shocked when he was neither. "But…what do I tell Sarah?" Ellie and Devon looked at each other hesitantly. "What?"

* * *

The blonde goddess in the skimpy white bikini cut through the clear water of the pool without once rising to the surface, disappointing the many male eyes from the LA field office, all there to make sure she was properly backed up on this op. Only Casey's optics, planted by him in the guise of a pool cleaner, were positioned to see her rise from the water, and he kept his eyes firmly on her hands, wringing water from her hair, rather than anything below the neck.

As she padded softly across the stones of the poolside, her phone, located near the man who owned the house and the pool, and thought he owned the person she was currently pretending to be, began to ring. He picked it up as if it belonged to him and held it out to her, as if she couldn't hear it for herself. "Your phone, my dear."

* * *

Somewhere far away, a young man sat in his sister's apartment, listening to his phone ring. "Pick up," he said, knowing his sister was listening, even if she was trying not to.

* * *

At poolside, the blonde goddess looked at the screen, saw the name and the picture of the man calling her.

* * *

The man sitting in his sister's apartment pulled the phone away from his ear at the harsh tone. The signal had terminated. With extreme prejudice.

* * *

Sarah stood at the water's edge, looking down at the phone. Watching the screen as it flickered and died. She turned back to the man, watching curiously from his recliner. "I will get you a new one. A friend of yours?" he asked mildly, only the slightest, sharpest, edge on the word 'friend'.

"No," she said, taking his hand as she seated herself for his viewing pleasure. "Just someone I thought I knew, once."

* * *

 **A/N2** Tektel Corporation, in case you didn't know it, is the cover company that Arnold Schwarzenegger's character pretends to work for, in True Lies.

If requests for reviews sway you, then please review. I respond to everything, mostly behind the scenes.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N My DVD has Pink Slip in six segments, so I'll be giving each segment its own chapter, strongly modeled on canon but changed as needed. Many changes were needed here: bathrobe Chuck, cheeseball Chuck, Nerd Herd Chuck getting knocked out with a slap. The list is extensive, and it's not just Chuck. There are lots of clues. I don't plan to keep releasing chapters at this rate, since I can't write them at this rate.**

 **If any of you can think of any parts of the back 6, S4, or S5 that could have come from the Rough Draft, please leave a comment about it. S3 was a pretty strong season, but Rough Draft S4 was broken up, and I'll be trying to locate and reorganize those pieces when I get to the second season of this story.**

 **I guess I'm supposed to tell you now that I don't own Chuck. Whether you believe me or not is your own business.**

* * *

 _"Give me the case,_ or else. _"_

 _"You're firing me?"_

 _"Guess who holds the new record for completing the training course."_

 _"Just someone I thought I knew, once."_

* * *

Chuck hit the ground running. He passed it off as part of the Tektel dynamic, not that Devon seemed to mind the company. The blond god seemed to think it was a perfectly fine way to power through all the disappointments life could offer. He hadn't suffered many of those, but he didn't seem to think of getting born on third base was any kind of accomplishment, either.

Chuck had plenty of experience with disappointments of all kinds, but he wasn't about to even pretend to despair this time. Ellie had gone through enough of that once already, and anyway the parallels to Stanford just weren't there. It wasn't like Tektel had fired him, and he had yet to find out just how unhappy Sarah was about the whole situation. When he'd finally checked in with the LA field office, they only told him how she'd flung her phone into the pool. That was the extent of their knowledge on the subject, thankfully.

Unfortunately.

Sarah was a woman of action, not words, and while her actions poolside seemed fairly straightforward, he'd seen her do three things at once often enough. Besides, she'd been wearing a skimpy white bikini, so Chuck had good reason to doubt the accuracy of their reporting about anything else. Casey's report would be more useful, but he couldn't seem to get a hold of the big man either. He needed _data_ , dammit!

He got data, but the wrong kind. The skills may have been untried and untested, but the quality of his data flashes hadn't changed, and Diane Beckman wasn't the sort to turn down half a loaf. While Ellie thought he was out job-hunting, he was really down in Castle, alone, doing what no one else could do and sending his results to the LA team. They were under strict orders to maintain their distance, but that was only while on overwatch. On duty, Chuck was under strict orders to stay in a secure location, where an unexpected skill flash could hurt no one.

Sometimes, for the sake of appearances, he would actually have an interview, but somehow something always seemed to go wrong, and he never got a callback. Ellie was glad that he wasn't letting this get him down.

* * *

His phone rang, not a reply to any of the many calls he'd made to Sarah. "Chuck!" said Ellie, when he'd picked up after a suitable wait. "I need you to do me a favor. Are you near a Buy More?"

He looked up, and over his shoulder, sensing the predatory box store perking up its metaphorical ears. With Jeff and Lester on the job, maybe those ears weren't so metaphorical. "I…can be. What do you need, sis?"

"Someone's eaten all the cheese balls I bought for your welcome home party." She wasn't going to turn down an opportunity to celebrate his homecoming, just because he was already there.

He'd noticed the barrel, naturally, spy training included a heightened awareness of your surroundings. Now he knew what it was for, assuming she had a lot of cheese-ball-eating friends. "You want me to pick up another one, don't you?"

"Yes, please. Thanks, you're a life-saver. Bye," said Ellie, before he could say no or try to get her to change her mind.

"But–" said Chuck to no one. He looked around. "Um…"

* * *

Chuck snuck into the Buy More, wrapped in a trench coat and hat, head down, sunglasses on. Hopefully the building wouldn't notice him. He could at least rely on the employees to do that, they didn't notice anything or anyone, unless they had breasts. All he had was a pasted on beard and mustache.

"Can I help you sir?" asked a dull, drugged-sounding voice behind him.

In sheer surprise Chuck turned around. Jeff Barnes? The drugged tone wasn't unusual, but the attempt to help certainly was. "Uh…cheese balls," he said, trying to minimize the contact.

"Aisle three," said Jeff, sounding more catatonic than usual. "It's been a pleasure servicing you."

Chuck hastened away, well aware of where the cheese balls were kept. Possibly they were even the same ones he'd stacked before he left. No. At least, he didn't think so, not unless the stack had fallen down at least once and he wasn't discounting that possibility. He reached up and slowly, carefully, lifted the topmost barrel off the stack. He turned, ready to make his escape.

"Well, well, well," said a tall, thin, pasty-faced man in managerial gray. Emmet Milbarge, the only employee in the store who looked unchanged, and didn't that just speak volumes about the man's character. "What do we have here?" he said, leering at Chuck.

Escape was out, Emmet had already gathered his flock, ghouls swarming around any possible scrap of good publicity. Cameras were already out, recording the scene. Chuck did the only thing he could do, stood up straight and removed his glasses.

"Bartowski?" said Emmet in disbelief, and the cameras, thankfully, went away. "Look at you! Come hither, everybody, come hither."

Emmet gestured at Chuck, not nicely. "Take a gander, breathe the perfume." He leaned in and took an exaggerated sniff. "Look at the big shot, come back to laugh at you, the poor hardworking inhabitants of Buymoria." He flicked at Chuck's lapel. "I know you've all prayed for his return, but look at him. He's forgotten you." Flick.

Chuck flashed. Combat techniques. Dozens of ways to leave Emmet on the floor and he'd never see any one of them coming. His hands started to move, and Chuck fought to control the skills, when he'd never learned how.

Emmet mistook his paralysis. "He's not your champion. He left you behind." Flick.

In an instant Chuck knew everything Sarah knew about knife work. Housewares, aisle five. "Emmet, please…" Beckman was right, he was a disaster waiting to happen.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir," said Emmet. "I'll have one of _my boys_ carry this out to your limo." He reached for the barrel of cheese balls, something between Chuck's hands that wasn't Emmet's neck. At the touch of Emmet's cold, clammy hands, something in the back of Chuck's mind relaxed, and the barrel of snack food fell out of his hands, spilling all over the floor.

"Cleanup in aisle three," said Emmet snidely. "The rest of you, back to work." He smiled at Chuck as the crowd dissolved. "I'll send you the bill, Bartowski."

"O Captain, my Captain," said Lester, as Emmet walked away. "Are you come back to lead us once more?"

"Sic semper tyrannosaurus," said Jeff, holding out Chuck's barrel of cheese balls, freshly swept up off the floor. He sounded a little more alive, which wasn't necessarily a good thing.

"Uh, yeah," said Chuck, pushing back on the plastic tub. A greenshirt, must have been new, put a fresh one into his hands. "I'd love nothing more, guys, but I really don't think I can." Emmet Milbarge was exactly the sort of petty tyrant he'd signed on to help overthrow, but he wasn't a national security threat at the moment.

"Then at least take us with you," said Lester.

"I'll wax anything you want," offered Jeff.

"That sounds great, it really does," said Chuck with a plastic smile, "But I have to go now."

"Oh, well," said Lester, as the crowd of hopefuls turned away. "I guess there's nothing for it now but conspiracy, complacency, and eventual death. Enjoy your blonde goddess, Bartowski."

"Not that she's his anymore," said Jeff in a stage-whisper. "Her new sugar-daddy's got it all over you, Chuck."

"Wait, you've seen her?"

"Are you kidding?" sneered Lester. "When a shiksa like that falls into _our_ gravity well–" he gestured back and forth at himself and Jeff "–she never gets out."

"We keep an eye on her, telescopes in hand," said Jeff.

"Firmly in hand," added Lester.

"That's great, guys," said Chuck, practicing his newly-discovered powers of not throttling people. "So you know where I can find her?"

* * *

Chuck returned to the Orange Orange, disappointed, tub of cheese balls firmly in hand. Since he refused to lead them in revolution, Jeff and Lester refused to give up Sarah's location. For a second he was almost tempted to eat a cheese ball or two, but he didn't know of any sin he'd committed that was great enough to deserve that kind of penance.

His instincts flared. Someone was in here with him. He crept behind the counter, plastic barrel at the ready. Not much of a weapon, but as a decoy–

A booted foot kicked out from behind the refrigerator door, striking the plastic tub and sending it flying across the room. Chuck grabbed the extended limb in his now-empty hands and lifted, dropping the unknown kicker onto his back among the yogurt toppings.

As a decoy, they excelled.

"Ah!" growled the attacker. "Garramit to hell!"

"Casey?" said Chuck, noting three separate points of identity in that one utterance. Plus the attack-first-ask-questions-maybe style of greeting.

"Yeah. Give me a hand up, Bartowski," growled the big man. "Who knows where this floor has been." Once he was vertical he favored Chuck with a sharp nod of approval. "Good job with that bucket, suckered me right in." He tapped Chuck in the shoulder, hard. "Don't do it again."

"I didn't do it the first time," said Chuck. "What are you doing here, Casey?"

"You'd better mean here in Castle, Bartowski, anything else would be insulting. As for why I'm here, _in Castle_ , it's because someone who was supposed to be in Castle wasn't in Castle." Casey grabbed Chuck by the collar and dragged him into the freezer, putting his hand on the scanner. "As the nearest person cleared to be in the same room as you when you're working, I was tasked to come over here and find out why you weren't working." The door opened and he pulled Chuck onto the stairs.

"Uh…Ellie…cheese balls…" said Chuck, gesturing back at the room they were leaving.

Grunt #1. "One of these days, Bartowski, you're really gonna have to learn how to say no to a woman." Casey's phone rang, and he checked the screen on the way down. "Speaking of which…Yeah, Walker, I'm here."

"Can I talk to her?" asked Chuck, and Casey angled his body so the phone was on the far side of it.

"No, he just disobeyed a direct order from the General to get some disgusting snack food for his sister. Got all the way to the Buy More and back on his own, too. Guess that training from your CIA charm school was good for something." At the base of the stairs he pivoted, moving Chuck around to toward his work station and letting him go, with velocity. "I'm on my way back now, don't start the mission without me."

"Mission?"

"Yeah, numb-nuts, a mission," said Casey, putting his phone away. "I'm not in LA for the cuisine, although I hear the paella is to die for." Casey paused, and then snarled, "Just do me a favor, Bartowski, and stay in your hole." He went back up the stairs and out to the Double-O, setting the barrel of cheese balls at the head of the stairs before sealing the door behind him.

Chuck stayed in his hole, typing slowly, thinking fast.

* * *

Chuck walked up to the door of El Bucho with enough swagger to get the rope line opened for him without a word being spoken. Heads turned around the room. Casey, behind the bar as usual, was looking the wrong way for the grand entrance, but Sarah was not.

"Casey, Chuck's here," said her voice in her partner's ear.

He wasn't at all surprised, turning slowly, as if he was simply following the mood of the crowd. Chuck stood behind him, dazzling in his Armani. "Good evening, sir. Would you care for a drink?"

"Yes," said Chuck. "Yes I would. I'm here for the paella, I hear it's to die for."

"Of course, sir," said Casey, still burning over his slip. "Seafood paella is our specialty," he said, both because it was true and because he wanted to see how Chuck handled squid. "A rioja red is recommended."

Chuck nodded. "Make it so, then."

"I'll have it sent to your table." He snapped his fingers and a waiter appeared, menu in hand.

"Very good," said Chuck, before moving into the room.

A stunning blonde in a magnificent blue dress approached them. "Kiss the girl," said the waiter in Chuck's ear.

The blonde looked up, as if just now noticing Chuck standing in her path, and she paused, lips slightly parted. Every woman there fumed jealously as the handsome prince took the beautiful princess' face in his hands and kissed her, gently but passionately. When he pulled away, Chuck could hear the faintest sigh escape from Sarah's mouth, the slightest moan of pleasure.

Then she hit him, an open-handed smack that left his cheek stinging, his eyes tearing, and his ears ringing. He could still hear her say, "Bastard", though.

"Who the hell is he?" asked a man standing behind Chuck.

Sarah stepped to the side, taking the man's arm and pulling him around Chuck to her table. "Why should I ruin your evening?"

* * *

 **A/N2 I actually researched paella to find out what kinds of wine went with it. I've never had squid, myself. I'm told it's chewy.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N Probably my least favorite segment of Pink Slip, Chuck at his most foolish. Also Casey being pretty foolish, but in this story I move that onto an OC who can't really be blamed for it.**

* * *

"Are you near a Buy More?"

"He's forgotten you."

"Don't do it again."

"Why should I ruin your evening?"

* * *

Chuck sat at his table, trying to figure out the best way to eat squid. A beautiful brunette–she said her name was Jones but he didn't believe it–sat with him, apparently a couple having a night out, seeing and being seen. "Agent Carmichael, what are you doing here?" she asked quietly.

The question wasn't hers, of course, but it would have looked odd for a well-dressed patron to be chatting with the bartender. The questions had to be kept vague, of course, with everyone on the line, but there should be no reason to mention the Intersect. Still, the question made Chuck uncomfortable. Big or small, and in this environment it could be either, the mission shouldn't need him, but to say that he was here to see Sarah would be embarrassing for both of them. To say to one woman that he was here to see another also made him feel guilty, thank you very much for that, Ellie. "Just…here for the calamari," he said, forcing himself to swallow.

"Plenty of places to get that…um…" Chuck wondered what kind of endearing, Casey-an epithet she'd just swallowed, rather than pass on to him. Otherwise, she was doing a good job copying his style. "This is just a simple courier exchange. Gilles, the guy with Walker, he's the mark. He's meeting with a Ring operative."

"The Ring?" said Chuck. "They killed Bryce."

Jones ignored his outburst. "The moment the Ring courier meets Gilles, we strike. So get out before you spook Javier."

"Javier?" asked Chuck. "Who's Javier?"

"The courier," said Jones in her own voice, since Casey couldn't be bothered to answer. "And why he's telling you all this, I don't know."

Chuck shrugged. "Because he's learned over the years we've worked together that I do much better and can be trusted with more information, rather than less."

She leaned closer, over the table. "I've just been told to get you out of here, my choice how."

Brunette cleavage. Sarah would skin him. Ellie would help. He stared into her…frown. "How?"

"Hot passion or maybe just kick your ass," she said demurely. "I'm considering the latter. This op is a big deal for me, and now I might miss it because of you." She made a face. "Damn. Kicking your ass is out. Okay, hot passion it is."

He leaned in closer, too, and said softly, "There are always video games."

On the other side of the room, a beautiful blonde in a stunning blue dress started coughing, and took a sip of water.

Jones laughed, a light merry tinkle, and placed her hand on his arm. They stood, their intentions, or at least her intentions, very plain. She all but dragged him out the door, but once in the parking lot she shoved him away. "Fine, you're out. Get lost, Carmichael."

"You mean that's it?" asked Chuck. "You're not going to make sure I leave the scene?"

"You've left it," she said. "You can't go back in without looking like someone else, and believe me, no one would mistake you for someone else. I, on the other hand, am a pair of boobs in a dress. Lose the dress, hide the boobs, and I'm in like Flynn."

"No one would ever believe that a woman as beautiful as you was a waitress," said Chuck.

"Aw, that's sweet," she said. "Now get lost so I can change. Hopefully I can get back inside before Cruz shows up." She walked away, toward a large panel wagon in the shadows, presumably mission control.

"Cruz?" said Chuck.

"The _courier_ ," she said again. "Javier Cruz."

Chuck flashed, but no one was there to see it. "He's not a courier, he's an assassin," he said, but the lady was too far to hear, and that wasn't the sort of thing to shout across a parking lot. Not to mention that she was clearly not to be trusted with sensitive data, if she was willing to toss target designations around in an unsecured environment.

Casey! He had to tell Casey, but Miss Anger Management over there had taken her transmitter with her. He ran around the back of the building, shedding his fancy jacket and tossing it behind a bush. As he approached the back door he spotted a man dressed in a costume, carrying a guitar case. Feeling vaguely like the Terminator, he scanned the man for size and concluded he was a reasonable match. "Sorry," he said, giving the man a human equivalent of a Vulcan neck pinch and lowering him to the ground gently. "National security."

* * *

Feeling mildly relieved that his pants already were a decent match for the suit jacket, and therefore that he would not have to strip the poor guitarist completely, Chuck made his way into the kitchen. Taking some handfuls of water from the sink, he slicked his hair back and walked out onto the floor unnoticed. That was good. All he needed was to get word to Casey, lose the jacket and guitar, and he would be out of there.

Someone pounced on him, a large lady with a headset. "You're late. The others are already waiting for you." She dragged him off to the stage, where the rest of the band, their costumes matching his, waited, tuning up. The spotlight came on, making sure everyone in the room got a good look.

This time Casey was first to recognize him. "Walker, we have a situation."

She looked around to see what he was seeing, but kept any reactions she may have had to herself. "Isn't that the guy you hit?" asked Gilles.

"It was just a slap," said Sarah, distantly. "Not so much for the kiss as for thinking I wanted one." She turned back to her 'date' for the evening. "He could never accept that I loved mariachi music more than him."

Gilles watched Chuck fumble with the guitar. "Do you want me to have my guys take care of him?"

"No," said Sarah. "Just ignore him."

* * *

Chuck held the guitar awkwardly in his hands, knowing what it should look like but doubting that it looked what he was doing. He placed his fingers over the strings and plucked at them, wincing at the sour notes.

"He's gonna blow the op," said Casey urgently.

Sarah looked back at Chuck. "Give him a second."

* * *

Chuck saw her look, by turns intent, fearful, annoyed, ultimately confident. He looked down at the guitar in his hands and flashed. Instantly it was transformed, and he strummed it perfectly, his hands moving on the body, on the neck, like a lover. Except that something was wrong. When his fingers ran over the frets he could feel them, like little rods. He looked at the neck. Not rods, needles. Or darts. Then he remembered why he'd come back in the first place. He looked up at Casey, mouthing, "Assassin."

Casey saw it, and looked around. "Where?"

Chuck looked around. Without his darts, the assassin's Plan A was out. What would be his Plan B?

* * *

Outside the restaurant, a man dressed in the remains of a costume sat up, head aching. His jacket and guitar were gone. Unfortunate. He tore off his disguise and went back for his guns. The deaths were supposed to look like food poisoning, but now they would have to look like lead poisoning.

* * *

Sarah saw Casey's alertness increase, and decided to move to a less vulnerable position. "Dance with me," she said, leading Gilles away from their table. "Make him jealous."

Chuck couldn't see anyone who looked like the man he'd taken the jacket from. He couldn't think of any way to signal the information to Casey. He needed a courier of his own, one of the waiters.

"Casey?" he hissed, as loudly as he dared. "Casey!"

Chuck may not have been included in the mission prep but he'd been part of Casey's team long enough for Casey to know something was wrong, and he need to know what, right now.

Chuck saw Sarah dancing with Gilles, saw Gilles putting his hands–! Suddenly the guitar's neck was Gilles' neck, the little darts in his fingers, ready to be thrown if his target should get close enough. His other hand fumbled on the strings, and he fought with his anger.

Suddenly he saw a targeting light slide up Gilles' leg, then Sarah's leg as they danced, then Gilles again, then Sarah. He played faster.

Casey heard the tempo increase. Something was happening _right now_! He raised his transmitter. "Who's nearest the stage?"

Jones, newly arrived in the kitchen and dressed as a server, grabbed a tray from the stack in the kitchen. "I am, sir."

"Get to the stage, Jones, and have a word with that guitarist. Now."

"On it."

Chuck's fingers were beginning to hurt, typist's fingers no match for the kind of toughness guitar strings required. He saw Casey jerk his chin stage left, and turned that way. A long tube fell out of his sleeve, falling to the floor in front of Agent Jones' eyes.

She looked up, seeing the darts in Chuck's fingers and instantly connected them to the tube. "Gun!" she shouted, flinging her tray discus-like into the guitar, following it up onto the stage to tackle Chuck in a loud and discordant tangle of instruments. Every agent in the place reacted instinctively, pulling out their own weapons and containing the situation with ruthless efficiency.

"Hold fire!" bellowed Casey in his battlefield voice. "Everybody stand down. Not you." He pointed, and the people with eyes on Gilles and his men raised their weapons. Gilles, for his part, had his hands up and kept them there.

Casey went to the stage, where several of his large team had separated everyone and brought Jones and Chuck upright. "All right, Jones, let's have it."

"Sir," she said. "I approached the stage as directed and saw a tube fall from the guitarist's sleeve. That tube." She pointed, and one of the men on stage picked it up and handed it to Casey. "I saw something in the guitarist's hands, like blowgun darts, and I acted, sir."

"Yes, and well done, Agent Jones," said Chuck, reaching up to ruffle his hair.

"Agent Carmichael?" said Jones.

Chuck smiled at her, smoothing the jacket. "Not exactly boobs in a dress, but it did what I needed it to do." He turned to Casey, and reported, "I found the darts on the guitar, I don't know where they are now, but only after I'd started playing. I didn't know the blowgun was in the sleeve."

Casey acknowledged the report with a standard-issue grunt. "What were you trying to tell me, Carmichael?"

"The guitarist was as tall as me, obviously, short curly brown hair, mustache. I didn't see him but I saw targeting lights on Sarah and Gilles before Jones took me down."

"Anybody see anyone like that?" shouted Casey to the room at large. No one answered in the affirmative. "Dammit. Okay. Well, better a blown op than a dead agent." But not by much, apparently. "Good job, you two."

* * *

Javier Cruz ducked into the bushes around the restaurant, as back-up agents poured out of the van. One of them stumbled across his disguise, the wig and mustache, and he cursed his bad luck. At least they had not discovered him.

His foot caught on something, and he reached down. A coat? That man, up on the stage, playing the guitar was such great skill but such little _passione…_ that man had taken his jacket, and his weapons. Could this be his own jacket? He felt the material, but nothing felt weapon-like to his fingers. A paper crinkled in one of the pockets, and he felt inside. He kept the paper and dropped the coat, in case it had trackers in it. He aimed the laser sight of his gun at the paper. A receipt from a Buy More, for…cheese balls?

* * *

 **A/N2 I have no plans for Jones to reappear, but then I never do.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N** Taking some decent lines and putting them in the proper mouths.

To my reviewer known as Guest, I'm glad you like this story, but this is not my first rewrite of S3. If you like this you should also try my story nine2five.

Would you believe me if I said I did own Chuck? No, I didn't think so.

* * *

" _What are you doing here?"_

" _Walker, we have a situation."_

" _Make him jealous."_

" _Good job, you two."_

* * *

Chuck swept up the barrel of cheese balls from the head of the staircase where Casey had left them. Where _he'd_ left them as he left the base so quickly, earlier that evening. No matter what he'd done, and he'd done plenty, he'd still need a debrief, and Casey and Sarah were the only ones qualified to do it. They'd be along soon, he was sure, and the first thing he didn't want was for them to drop-kick this stupid thing across the room.

He put the barrel in one of the chairs around the table before he changed into his regular clothes. He went to his own preferred station, back to the wall with a good view of the door, leaving his jacket on the table beside him as he sat. He was here, with no clear knowledge of how long it would take his former partners to clean up their–his–mess, so he caught up on whatever flash work had accumulated while he waited for them.

Earlier than he expected, the door alarm sounded, and he checked the monitors to make sure some nasty terrorist group hadn't kidnapped one or both of them _en route_ , but it was just them. By the time the freezer alert sounded he'd put most of his system back to sleep. Casey didn't even wait to get down the stairs before he started his inquisition, that is, debrief. "Alright, Chuck, what was that all about?"

"That was me participating without authorization in a sanctioned mission in a secure location," he stated for the record, watching Sarah carefully. Heels like hers on stairs like those could be tricky. "It wasn't my intention."

"Yeah, we all know what your _intentions_ were." Casey came to the table, grabbed a chair and spun it around, but the barrel of cheese balls was there first. He broke left and Sarah broke right, seating themselves opposite him.

"Was it my fault that you were operating on bad intel? Assassin, not courier."

"You could have told Jones."

"Told her what?" asked Chuck. "That I'd had a flash? That somehow the name 'Javier Cruz' had reminded me, 'oh yeah, he's an assassin'? Not to mention that she was in no mood to take my word for anything at the time. Did you get him?"

"No," said Casey. "One of the back-up team found a wig and a fake mustache."

"A bouncer remembered a bald man, standing by the door, but he didn't come in," added Sarah.

The targeting lights Chuck saw could have come from that direction. "He didn't ask why?"

Grunt. "He was watching Walker dance."

"That'd do it," said Chuck. Noticing that Sarah hadn't changed out of her eveningwear, Chuck took his jacket and moved around the table, spreading it wide. She leaned forward and he draped it across her shoulders. She smiled at him and murmured, "Thanks." Castle could be cold at night.

Casey took advantage of the interval to consider a new line of questioning. "Okay, so you flashed on Cruz, I can buy that. What was the rest of it about?"

"I was as surprised as you were, Casey," said Chuck, knowing what chase he was cutting to. "Why would mariachi guitar be one of the skill sets?"

Casey and Sarah shared a glance. "We were told you couldn't use the skills, Bartowski. You're telling us you've been playing a lemon cover all this time?"

"No, Casey. Not a cover. This is my life." Chuck held up his hands. "I can't make it happen when I want, and I can't control it when it does. Emmet's lucky to be alive. Beckman was right to bench me."

* * *

Up in the loading zone behind the Buy More…

Emmet clicked the last lock shut on the loading dock door, and went to his own Nerd Herder, turning on the radio for a moment of quiet time. The quiet scuff of heels on stone as some bald cowboy sauntered around the perimeter spoiled that moment, and he got out of his car reluctantly. "Can I help you?" he asked, making only a bare effort to be civil to a potential customer.

The bald cowboy held up a slip of paper. "I wish to know who made this purchase and where I can find him."

Emmet took the paper and squinted at it in the yellow light of the cheap bulbs. Cheese balls. Only one person had purchased cheese balls that day. Almost regretfully, he handed the slip back. "I'm sorry, I'd love to tell you, but our sales records are privileged information." The bald man stared at him, his face as expressionless as a dead fish. Emmet, hearing the radio in his car play without him there to listen to it, dropped his cloak of civility. "You can leave now."

The bald man stepped closer to take the paper, but he didn't step back, his dead gaze intent on Emmet's face. "So you know who I seek."

"O-o-kay," said Emmet, puffing out his chest, making a great display of the mace sprayers on his belt. "We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way…"

* * *

Down in Castle, at roughly the same time.

Sarah said, "Chuck–"

"It's not that bad, Sarah," said Chuck. "At least I can still flash, do my bit for the greater good. Otherwise I'd be out of a job completely, if not worse."

They all had some idea what he meant. "You watch too many movies, Bartowski," said Casey, rolling his eyes.

"Not necessarily, Casey," said Chuck sadly. "You're thinking spies, I'm thinking–" Suddenly a light started flashing on a console, with an annoying beep. "Dammit, that thing again!" He went to shut it off.

Casey stood up, and followed. "What do you mean 'again'?"

"It's been going off practically every night," said Chuck. "What is it?"

"That's the proximity alarm for the Home Theater entrance from the Buy More." Casey started touching the controls, and the noise stopped.

Chuck checked the time automatically, even though he knew it was too late. "At this hour?"

"Yeah. During store hours it's inactive." Casey reactivated the visual surveillance inside the store, left idle since no one was under cover there. Screens flickered, showing empty aisles.

"Wait, go back," said Sarah. "Is it just me, or is that dryer…moving?"

Casey made an affirmative grunt, and continued cycling through the cameras. "Grimes?"

Morgan sat on a couch in the HT room, half his crap scattered around as he focused on some video game. "Isn't he supposed to be in Hawaii?"

"Last I heard," said Chuck. He couldn't imagine Morgan coming back and not saying a word about it, unless…"Cheese balls."

"What?"

"Ellie called, said someone had eaten all her cheese balls. His comfort food. Probably hiding out in my room, until I came back early. I doubt he's been here longer than that, or you'd have heard the alarms too." Chuck looked at Morgan's empty expression, he hated to play by himself. "Can you open the doors?"

"Don't have to," said Casey. "Milbarge finally got around to changing the factory preset, but so many of these Buy Morons locked themselves out he had to change it back."

Chuck smiled, a little. "Are we done here? Something tells me he could use a friend."

* * *

A few minutes later.

Chuck walked through a quiet store, the only sounds the dryer humming against one wall and some kind of electronic mayhem in back. When he got to the doors of the HT room, he saw his best friend playing something new from the rack, the shrink-wrapper ready and waiting for when he was done. He was really into the game, too, levels and scores both pretty high, so Chuck was almost regretful when he said, "Morgan?"

"Ah!" shrieked the little man, dropping his controller. He rolled off the couch, holding up a cushion as a shield. "Don't kill me!"

* * *

In Castle…

Casey turned away from the monitor as Sarah came back from the ready room. Her clothes were her own but Chuck's jacket was still over her shoulders. "I can't watch this," he said in disgust. "It's pathetic. You take over while I get out of this clown-suit."

* * *

Upstairs, in the HT room…

Chuck laughed a bit at Morgan's antics. "Not planning to, buddy."

Morgan peeked out from behind the cushion. "Chuck?" He lowered his shield. "What are you doing here?"

"In Burbank, or here specifically?"

"Both," said Morgan. "Either. I heard you were going away. Doing stuff, moving on. I was happy for you, man."

"Thanks, Morgan," said Chuck. "I heard the same about you. Benihana, wasn't it?"

Morgan's face fell into sorrowful lines, and he sank down onto the couch. "They canned me a few weeks ago. Couldn't flip the shrimp. Anna took off with the prep chef, and here I am."

"Here? Why aren't you living with your mother?" asked Chuck. "You know she'll take you in."

"I can't. I asked Big Mike to take care of my Mom before I left."

"So?"

"So he _is_ ," said Morgan with a shudder. He spread his arms wide. "Drink it in, Chuck. This is as low as a man can get."

Chuck nodded judiciously. "It does put my own life's little hiccups in a better perspective."

"Thanks, bud," said Morgan, slumping even further. "I was hoping for something a little more, you know, upbeat. Whatever happened to hetero life partners, brothers in arms…?"

Chuck sat next to him, slung an arm across his shoulders. "Sorry, bud, but like you said, I've moved on, and so have you. We can go up, we can go down, if we're lucky we can move forward, but we can't go back."

"Easy for you to say, you've got a shining star on _your_ horizon."

Chuck smiled. "That I do. Don't worry, Morg, you were there for me after Jill, and I'm here for you after old what's-her-name. As soon as your laundry is done you and I will go back to my place. You can use the couch or something until you get back on your feet."

"Now that's more like it," said Morgan, rising up with a smile on his face. He looked around. "I'm a bit of a pig, aren't I?"

* * *

Down below, watching on monitors…

"Ecchh," said Casey, safe at the far end of the table with some new weapons and their manuals, his own version of comfort food. "Should have put him out of his misery."

Sarah blinked her eyes clear. "He did."

Casey got up. "I'm gonna need a bigger gun," he said as he went back to the armory. Sarah clicked off the monitor and walked away.

* * *

Chuck and Morgan strolled the empty halls of the Buy More, baggage in hand. It was a nice place, in the absence of its manager and crew. "Lots of good memories, huh, Chuck?"

Chuck looked around, wondering what store Morgan had worked in. "Well, memories, anyway."

"That bad?"

Kidnappings. Terrorists. Car crashes. "Pretty bad–" Mystery Crisper.

Sarah came through the doors, moonlight glowing on her hair. The brightest light in the room.

"–But they had their good aspects," continued Chuck.

"Hmm, well," said Morgan, taking his duffels out of Chuck's hands. "I'll just go see about that couch, shall I?" He shuffled past her with a murmured simultaneous hello-and-goodbye.

Chuck and Sarah stared at each other. "Well," said Sarah, sticking out her hand. "I didn't want you to leave without a proper hello."

Chuck took her hand in hers.

"Welcome to Burbank, Agent Bartowski." Her smile was radiant. "I've been wanting to do that for the longest time."

Sarah could hardly believe it. Her fingertips actually tingled!

Chuck pulled his hand from hers, every limb going straight and rigid before the voltage passing through his body had any chance to do more harm than that. He fell to the floor, convulsing, as Javier Cruz stepped forward, taser in hand. "And I have been waiting a long time to do that."

Sarah raised her hands, outflanked and outgunned by his flunkies. Javier stared at her, blank and expressionless. Sarah felt the pressure of the nozzle, heard the hiss of the injector, but the tranquilizing agent swept down through her body first, making her ever more limp and powerless as she stared into the eyes of a man who only saw two kinds of people: those he hadn't bothered to target and those he hadn't killed yet.

Then darkness.

* * *

 **A/N** What happened to Emmet? Javier did. Beyond that, I really don't want to know.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N So here we are, the segment that hopefully you've been waiting for, the meeting at Nadrazi Station. I've been putting in little clues about Sarah's true state of mind all through the previous chapters, but I haven't been making a big thing of it. The proper functioning of the skills is also hinted at here.**

* * *

" _Alright, Chuck, what was that all about?"_

" _You watch too many movies, Bartowski."_

" _Don't kill me!"_

" _I didn't want you to leave without a proper hello."_

* * *

Chuck woke in some morning, not sure which one, stiff, sore, and with a nasty case of tranq-head. He'd been tranqed before, part of his training if nothing else, so he recognized those symptoms, but the others were new. Only after he'd moved did he remember the lessons about playing possum until he'd assessed his own condition, but he'd already assessed the headache, so what the hell. He kept going, bringing himself upright on the bare mattress on a rusty frame in a run-down stone (he checked the condition of the door, especially the locks) cell.

Daylight. There were techniques for determining possible location based on the angle of the sun, but he didn't know what they were. Heat. More heat than he'd expect if he was still in Burbank, therefore he wasn't in Burbank. Someplace south of there, most likely. Rural, based on the sounds and smells from the window. Barred window. He couldn't hear any birds, so that was no help.

Keys jingled outside. The lock turned, and the door creaked open on rusty hinges. Chuck looked up as Javier Cruz walked into the room, dressed in black from head to toe, bald head glistening. "Oh, hi, Javier," said Chuck amiably. "You're looking a bit overheated. Have you considered toning down the all-black ensemble in the middle of the summer?"

"Shut up, Agent Bartowski," said Javier with voice as lively as his face. "Soon you will tell me everything you know."

"First you tell me to shut up and then you want me to talk? Make up your mind."

Javier removed his coat and started removing his shirt. Underneath he was extremely muscular. Yuri was a slow, fat, wallowing pig next to this man.

"You know, what I said about the all-black, I didn't mean you should start right away–"

"Shut up," said Javier again. "I have made up my mind. First I will amuse myself, seeing if you are anywhere near as capable facing me squarely as you are attacking me from behind."

"I didn't attack you," said Chuck. "In fact I even apologized, although I can see how you would have missed that."

Javier adopted a ready stance. "Fight me."

Chuck sighed. "Fine." He pushed himself and overbalanced, sticking out a hand.

Cruz grabbed the hand and pulled Chuck closer, striking him across the face.

"Hey," said Chuck, wiping his lip. Cruz was ripe for plucking, too angry by half. One flash and he would be out of here. "I wasn't ready. And you know you may be extremely ripped, but my mother's hugs have done me more damage." He held up his hands, but nothing came to him, no flash, no skills. The Intersect had once again abandoned him. Why today and not yesterday? Why Emmet and not Cruz? He threw a good punch, but to Cruz it was slow and obvious.

Cruz blocked and struck, his booted foot catching Chuck in the chest. The stone wall withstood the impact of his body against it, and he slid down slowly. "As I thought, coward. Once you have recovered from this beating I will administer another," said Cruz, his face blurring in the hazy light. "You will tell me all your secrets. Everything you know. Who you work for. And then you'll tell me about the girl."

Chuck winced, hiding his frown. _Girl?_ _What girl?_ Sarah? Jones? No, not Jones. He tried to recall a girl and could only picture a hazy golden light. Sarah. The last time he could remember seeing that was where? Oh yeah.

Nadrazi Station. But that was…

* * *

…Three weeks ago.

Bright sunlight caught her hair, flaming gold around her face. She glowed at him, for him. He almost could not bear to diminish that glow, but there was no going backward for him. It would be forward or nothing, for him and for her.

He couldn't really remember the short walk across the platform, his trainers would have been ashamed. But they weren't there, weren't seeing her for the first time in weeks. Years, or ever, she looked so happy. How had he made her so happy?

He reached for her hands, and she reached for his, papers waiting. "Are you ready, Chuck?" she asked, rushing on without waiting for an answer. Of course he would be ready. "Here's your ticket and your passport. Your name is Hector Calderon–"

"Sarah, stop."

"Talk on the train, we have to hurry–"

He reached up to touch her cheek, and she fell silent. "Sarah, you've been hurrying ever since I uploaded the new Intersect." She must have been, he'd learned the complexities of making new identities and three weeks wasn't a lot of time for setting up two new lives. "You've done wonderful things, I'm sure, but if anything, surely now is exactly the time to stop, to think. There will be no time for thinking afterward."

"I've thought about this," said Sarah. "I've thought about nothing else–"

"Neither have I," said Chuck. "Back in Castle I heard your thoughts, and I'm here. I will go with you, if you want, but before we go I would like you to stop and hear my thoughts. You're not my handler anymore, Sarah. We're partners now, and we always will be, if it's within my power to make it so."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

His given word didn't seem to relieve her mind. "You're making this complicated, Chuck," said Sarah. She reached up and gripped his hand. "This is simple. This is real life."

"Is it?" said Chuck. "How is 'Hector Calderon' a real life?"

"The life can be real, we can be real, even if it's a cover…"

Chuck looked surprised. "Like your life with your father? You hated that life. You still hate it, even if the CIA gave it a higher purpose."

"Chuck…"

"Sarah. You want to have a real life, I can help you with that, none better," said Chuck, holding her tightly. "This isn't how it's done."

She trembled in his arms. "Going off to be a spy isn't how it's done either, trust me on that."

"I trust you on everything, Sarah. You asked me to, and I have. And I'm going off to do what you told me to do." He loosened his hold. "I've finally accepted, begun to accept, that I am that guy. I can be him. Not a spy. Not the Intersect. The guy you saw before anyone, especially me. I can't just leave, that would be the most unfaithful to you that I can be, not to mention Ellie."

Sarah blinked. "Ellie?" Somehow she'd forgotten her almost-sister.

"Yes, Ellie. Whether I see her again or not, she made me everything I am, she made me _that guy_ every bit as much as you did. More. I can't betray her like this, any more than I can betray you."

Betrayals lay all around them. "She wouldn't want you to be a spy. The lying, the deceit…"

A good point. Ellie would expect better. "No, but she would want me to do what I could, if I had the power to do it, and I do. I don't want it, but I have it. I'll just have to figure out a way to use it without lying." A path that led through the CIA, but didn't end there.

"They're going to want you to lie," said Sarah. "Cut ties, abandon principles, do what they'll tell you has to be done. It weakens you, so you'll be dependent on them."

"I'd rather be dependent on you." He reached into his pocket. "You have my mother's charm bracelet?"

"Of course." Packed away in her bag, safe and hidden. "Why?"

"Here," said Chuck, holding up a little envelope. He shook out a little silver charm into her palm. "This is my heart. You hold it for me, so I can't lose it while I go to do what I have to. I need you to keep my heart alive, Sarah, you more than anyone know what that means."

"I do." She folded her fingers over the charm. _This is mine. His heart in my hands._ "So. We stay. You learn to be Charles Carmichael. I'll hold on to Agent Bartowski for you."

"I know you will." Chuck folded his hand over hers. "This is how it's done, partner."

* * *

Pain in his chest brought Chuck out of his pleasant reverie. _Heart. She holds my heart._ Which was good, since it looked like Javier held everything else. And Sarah. Did he know about her? He must, but how? Did he have her, too?

He couldn't remember! He'd been going to the Buy More to talk to Morgan. Javier must have been in the Buy More, something had led him there. Did he get Morgan, too? Unlikely. Cruz was a pro, he wouldn't waste time on a someone like Morgan. He wasn't even a somebody, he was nobody. He even had the paperwork to prove it.

 _I really hope someone was watching the monitors…_

* * *

Back in Castle…

Casey checked the last monitor, not expecting much. He was wrong. _Well, Emmet's looked better…_

* * *

Somewhere in a stone room…

Chuck got up and tried the grillwork on the window, which he hadn't had a chance to do before, but the rods were firmly planted in the stone. The door was the only way out and Javier was the only way to open the door. He needed to flash! He ran through every exercise they'd tried before in Prague, but this time none of the movements, thoughts, or images had any effect. "I am completely dead."

"Chuck?"

"Sarah?" Damn, he'd hoped she was out of this. He went to the bed, knelt by the wall. "I hope you have a plan."

"Yes, I do," she said. "You beat the crap out of Javier, get the keys and open this door. I don't have any picks and the lock's all rusted anyway."

He liked this plan even less than the last plan. "I can't beat him, Sarah. The skills aren't working."

"Don't be silly, Chuck, of course they work. You just have to find the right trigger."

That's what they'd said in Prague, and look how that turned out. "But I've tried everything."

"So maybe you shouldn't try. It didn't look like you were trying last night."

"I wasn't," said Chuck. He thought about what had happened. "I was just trying to get to you, or to Casey, tell you about Javier not being a courier, and that lady pushed me up onto the stage."

* * *

On the other side of the wall, Sarah shook her head. "You were trying to warn us."

"Yes."

Any other agent would have tried to save the day. "Chuck, since you went to Prague I've worked with a lot of spies, but you want to know what they aren't?"

"Here with us?"

"No, Chuck," said Sarah with a laugh. Locked in a cell by a professional killer, and she was laughing. "They aren't you, and you aren't them. You aren't just a spy, just the you-know-what. You're that guy."

"I'm that guy."

She put her open hand against the stone wall. "Yes, Chuck. Be that guy." _Be my guy._

"I can do that. I can be him." A slight pause. "Uh-oh."

* * *

In Chuck's cell…

Keys jingled outside the door, and Chuck took his hand away from the wall. He got off the bed, speaking more loudly. "Something's happening."

"Don't freak out, Agent Bartowski."

The door creaked open and Cruz walked in again, secure in his control of the situation. "She can hear you," he said. "That's good. She will hear everything I do to you, everything you tell me." He shrugged off his jacket. "I won't kill you, though. I will let you listen to everything I do to her."

Chuck flashed. "Me first."

* * *

Sarah listened to the sounds of combat, a single crash and nothing more. "Chuck! What's going on? What's happening?"

"It worked, Sarah," he called to her. "I flashed."

A few seconds later she heard the keys in her door, and Chuck swung it wide. He held up a pistol like some form of lure. "Gun for the lady?"

Sarah went for the gun. "Let's go."

"Where?"

Cruz came out of Chuck's cell, saw the gun in her hand, and threw himself down the stairs before she could get a shot off. "Looks like up," she said.

* * *

Up above, not too far away…

"We're approaching the coordinates, Colonel," said the navigator.

"Roger that," said Casey, readying his mini-gun. It looked like he would get a chance to use her after all. Some days he really liked Bartowski. "Keep an eye out for explosions."

The pilot looked to his left. "Will fleeing civilians do?"

* * *

On the ground, having gone up only to go down again…

Chuck and Sarah stood, surrounded by goons with rifles as Javier took his time lining up a kill shot. "Sarah," said Chuck. "There's something I really should say, since it looks like I may not be able to say anything soon."

Sarah lifted her head. "Chuck, I'm listening."

"Sarah, I l–"

"Get down!" Sarah tackled him as bullets chewed through the buildings, the vehicles, the bad guys, well, everything, really. Except them. Over the helicopter and the gun they could hear Casey's shouts of battle joy. Well, he deserved it.

Time to go home.

* * *

 **A/N2 If you liked what I did with that scene, or even if you didn't, please let me know in the comments. One more chapter to go for this episode.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N** A shade darker than canon. I don't know why they felt they needed to hide the death of Emmet from Chuck. In this story it's part of his Hero's Journey as a spy, and a link to tie up some dangling plot threads.

* * *

" _Make up your mind._ _"_

" _We're partners now_ _."_

" _They aren't you, and you aren't them._ _"_

" _Chuck, I'm listening."_

* * *

The briefing room in Castle was crowded. Not with physical bodies, there were just the same three people it usually had (except when Sarah was swimming), but the large screen showed General Beckman, and she was the equivalent of many. "Well," she said. "Javier Cruz seems to have been a vital operative in the Mexican Ring syndicate. The phone you captured is a custom Ring smartphone for such operatives, the first we've ever captured."

"Good job, team," said Chuck, handing the phone to Casey. The screen was cracked, the image flickering, but they should still be able to get some useful intel off of it.

"Speaking of teams, Agent Bartowski," said the General, staring at him specifically, "Do you remember your last orders, as they were given to you by me?"

"Uh, yes, General," said Chuck, trying to sit up straighter. "Go home, sit on my bench, you'll call me?"

"Colonel Casey, Agent Walker," continued the General, "Did either of you issue such a call, in my name or otherwise?"

Sarah shook her head. Casey sat up straighter. "I specifically instructed Agent Bartowski to stay here."

"I was off duty," said Chuck. "Is it my fault that I just happened to go out to eat at the same restaurant they had staked out?"

"Dressed in your Armani from the Castle wardrobe," muttered Casey.

"It's an upscale environment."

"I have to agree, Agent Bartowski," said Beckman stolidly, overriding them both. "But only because the search histories from all Castle computers for that night appear to have been cleared of all evidence to the contrary."

Chuck smiled.

"General," said Sarah, "It should be noted that once the nature of the situation was made clear to Agent Bartowski, he cooperated in his own extraction from the scenario without incident."

"It's what happened outside the club that matters, Agent Walker," said the General. "Agent Bartowski's encounter with Mr. Cruz led him directly to the Buy More, resulting in one civilian death and your own capture."

Chuck stared at his hands. The capture he could live with, even Sarah's. They had offered their lives. Emmet had not, and Chuck's regret at a job poorly done was the only mourning Emmet Milbarge was likely to receive, since no one outside that room would ever know. "I understand, General."

"That's good, Agent Bartowski," said Beckman, a bit less harshly. "Just remember to weigh your responsibilities against your accomplishments. You have, however accidentally, struck a major blow to Ring operations on our southern border. In light of that success, and that failure, I'm reactivating Operation Bartowski. Agent Walker, Colonel Casey, it falls to you educate Agent Bartowski in some of the…greyer…aspects of our work, should the opportunity, or the necessity, arise. Dismissed." Her hand moved, and the giant screen went black.

No one moved. Casey and Walker seemed deep in thought. "So," said Chuck, after a moment. "How does this work?"

"How does what work?" asked Casey.

"If I'm going to be staying here, I need a cover."

"That's true," said Sarah. "What do you think, Casey? Gravedigger?"

"Nah," sneered the big man. "Mortician."

"It's not funny!"

"No, it isn't, Bartowski. It's either laugh or cry, and Marines don't cry." The big guy stood up from the table. "Emmet was a homicide waiting to happen, and I'm not about to lose sleep over one of those. However, if you insist on punishing yourself over the natural workings of the universe, I have a perfect job for that."

* * *

The next day…

Casey removed the blindfold, and Chuck looked around him in dismay. "The Buy More?" Casey had driven him around for what felt like hours!

"Yeah," said Casey, handing him his pocket protector. "Apparently the last thing Milbarge did before his untimely demise was to sign you on as Nerd Herd Supervisor, at twice your previous salary."

"Twice nothing is still nothing," said Chuck, sticking the plastic packet in his pocket.

Casey chuckled. "I thought you'd say that. So we took that second salary and redistributed it among the poor downtrodden greenshirts. They all thanked you, got you a card."

"You're a greenshirt," said Chuck.

"What's your point, Bartowski?" Casey snarled. "You won't miss it. You're independently wealthy, everyone says so."

 _Thanks, Emmet._ "Ellie doesn't say so."

Casey shrugged. "So don't tell her. And one other thing–"

"Chuck!" shouted Morgan, coming up from the back room with Jeff and Lester in tow. He waved at his own chest, and his new shirt. "Check it out. Buy More Corporate called. They were begging me to take back my old job. Begging. They even gave me a raise."

"All the greenshirts got a raise, Grimes," said Casey.

"Yeah!" said Morgan, raising his hand. "Put 'er there, compadre." Casey rolled his eyes and walked away, leaving him hanging. Morgan turned the high-five into a negligent wave. "He's busy. A busy man."

"Speaking of busy, Morgan, you know Emmet was manager here for quite a while…" Chuck looked over the expanse of employees, milling about aimlessly, if not normally.

"Our work is cut out for us, _mon capitaine_ …?"

Chuck sighed. "I'm afraid so, buddy. I'm afraid so."

* * *

Down below…

"Agent Walker," said General Beckman. "Is Agent Bartowski up in the Buy More?"

She had his image in three different monitors. "Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Given the shock he received yesterday, I didn't wish to add to it at this time, but it's an issue you and Colonel Casey should have on the top of your minds at all times. You, especially."

"What is it?" _Why me?_

"The skills," said Beckman. "Your mission succeeded in doing what all of our training scenarios could not. Agent Bartowski is now, for some reason, able to use the skills, and now he can learn to control them." General Beckman looked concerned. "This is not a good thing. Training exists for a reason. Chuck is now more capable than ever before, but he's unstable."

"Dangerous?" asked Sarah.

The General nodded. "Very. Until he learns to control his flashes he's a danger to everyone and everything around him, especially you two. Casey has the strength to contain him, if need be, but it's clear that Agent Bartowski listens to _you_. You two have to control what he can't. Protect the world _from Chuck_."

* * *

Later…

Chuck and Morgan walked into the courtyard of the apartment complex, chatting about nothing and everything. They pulled to a stop without knowing why, their Buymorian instincts for work-avoidance refreshed and hair-trigger.

Devon and Ellie were carrying stuff from their apartment into another. "Something I should know?" asked Chuck.

"We'd been hoping to take over this apartment for a while," said Ellie, "It's bigger, and now that you have that new position at the Buy More, with the salary and everything, you can afford to take our old one. Or share it. You have friends."

"I'm so happy," said Morgan.

"You have _lots_ of friends, Chuck," Ellie practically shouted at him. "Other friends."

It was too late. Had Morgan not been there, Chuck would gladly have considered taking it on his own. A roommate would have made the thirty-foot rule hard to implement, unless the roommate were someone like Casey. Now, though…Ellie stomped off. "I can't watch this," she declared to the gods, whichever of them happened to be listening. "It's pathetic."

Morgan took her place, much more excited. "Dude! Two words: Bachelor Pad." He held up a fist.

Chuck gave him a bump, but without the explosion, not that Morgan was the sort to notice little things like that. The smaller man raced off to join the parade. The sooner they were out, the sooner he could claim Ellie's room for his own.

Chuck was busy reconfiguring his cover in his head when he heard a slight sound behind him. Sarah and Casey had come into the entrance to the yard. Sarah stopped, while Casey kept going to his own apartment. "We have to talk," she said.

Chuck stepped away from the scene with her, before Ellie would first, drag them both into the moving-our-stuff parade and second, start to wonder what Sarah was doing there. Since Chuck had gone to Prague, Sarah had been assigned a number of missions in the LA area, and her reputation among the Buymorians (and therefore Ellie, who still shopped there) had suffered as a result. For her to be seen with Chuck so soon would only throw fuel on a fire.

"How are you, Chuck?" she asked.

Chuck flexed his arm. Ever since she'd tackled him in Mexico it had been a little sore. "Okay, I guess."

"That's not what I meant," said Sarah, with a light punch. "I meant how are _you_?"

"Charles Carmichael is fine," said Chuck. "The Intersect is fine too, it seems."

It seemed. "And Agent Bartowski?"

"You still have his heart?"

"Right here." Sarah lifted her arm, pointing to a little silver heart charm, one of two hanging side-by-side. "Nice and safe."

He took her hand in his own, studying the hearts. One had his name on it, if the other had a name he couldn't see it. "Then Agent Bartowski's fine too, partner."

"Even with…?"

"Even with," said Chuck. "It wasn't like I was planning for it, but I wasn't planning against it, either. I've got to do better."

"It's my fault, too," said Sarah, unwilling to let him shoulder all the blame. "If I'd just been able to call you…"

She'd been on a mission, of course she wouldn't break cover like that. But then he'd broken it for her, trying to preserve his own cover with Ellie. "What happened to your phone? They said you were swimming."

Sarah nodded. "I was. I'd just gotten out of the pool, and the phone rang. My mark handed it to me, he might have seen your face, I don't know." She turned her hand in his, and laced their fingers together. "But I know that when I saw your face I was just so happy to see you, and you were early, I wasn't ready, and…I dropped it."

"The guys watching, and there were a lot of guys watching, they said it was a toss, not a drop."

"Reflexes," said Sarah. "I don't care about the guys, but my mark was watching, and it was falling anyway, so I made it look good." She smiled. "Well, bad. A bad break-up. He was happy to hear that."

The LA team had told him all about that, in great detail, at least the public parts, which were all Casey's optics allowed them to see. "I'll bet." They'd also thrown in, free of charge, a great deal of speculation about would have happened afterward, after Gilles had taken her hand and led her inside his mansion. "So what'd you hit him with, a number seven?" The usual. Knock-out drops and planted evidence.

"Eight," said Sarah. Same as a seven, but the implanted memories came with more detail. "We had to sell it."

Chuck understood that completely. So many things he understood now, with his new knowledge of why she did what she'd done. "Yes, the jealous lover."

"Exactly."

"So what about our real–" One heavy footstep was his only warning.

"Move it Bartowski," said Casey, grabbing his arm. "Or Ellie'll put us to work too."

Sarah waved as the distance between them grew. "Bye, sweetie," she said. "Don't hurt him."

* * *

In the dojo…

Chuck could get to like sparring. He was actually _supposed_ to hit Casey. A win-win if he ever heard of one. "Okay, Bartowski," said the Colonel. "Enough dancing around. You managed to flash yet? I could use some exercise, and it looks like you could use a lesson or two yourself. Let's make it fun."

Chuck could do that. He flashed. He flexed his hands, a gloved Morpheus. "Bring it."

* * *

 **A/N2** The more I thought the courtyard scene, the more flaws I saw, so I fixed them all as I went. I also resolved the apparent mystery of the phone in the pool from chapter one, and addressed an issue that many have brought up, about Sarah actually having sex as part of her job. There are some writers who like to go on about 'government-trained whores', but I'm not one of them.

This is it for Pink Slip. Three Words is next, but after Christmas. Happy Midwinter Solstice Festival to you all. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	7. Gameplayer

**A/N** I think this is the first time I watched Three Words since I saw it on Hulu years ago. I was amazed at how bad Carina looked in the nightclub sequence. They went out of their way at times to make the beautiful women on this show as unattractive as possible.

* * *

" _I understand, General."_

" _This is not a good thing_ _."_

" _I've got to do better._ _"_

" _Let's make it fun._ _"_

* * *

Somewhere with trees and hills and things…

The guy running frantically through the underbrush, a/k/a 'the Target', was terrified. The guy with the sniper rifle, a/k/a 'the Villain', was a really bad shot, never managing a quick kill. Maybe it was because of damage to his shooting arm, as evidenced by the long scar on his wrist. Or maybe he just wanted his target to suffer a bit. Either way, terror seemed to be the proper reaction.

A shot to the belly left the Target crawling feebly down a filthy slope in pursuit of the case he'd dropped, as if he had a hope of still getting away. At the top of the hill, the Villain handed off his rifle to a henchman, a/k/a 'the Henchman', walked down to the bottom of the slope, and pulled out a smaller weapon. "Now I'll have two of these to clean, thanks to you," he said, before putting an end to his target's suffering.

"Feeling merciful today, Boss?" asked the Henchman. Henchmen are allowed to ask things like that. The lackey next to him, who would be the one to do the actual cleaning, was not.

"What can I say?" said the Boss, with a smile. "Maybe love really has made me a better man." He grabbed the case and stopped smiling. "Now get down here and take care of this mess." He kicked the dead man in the head before stomping off with his prize.

* * *

In a somewhat more urban environment…

Sarah Walker opened her door with one hand on her gun. Today was her day off, and no one was expected. On the other hand, both her enemies and most of her few friends could be expected to bypass the door entirely. Someone who used the bell would most likely be someone she actually wanted to see. Like Chuck, or…well, that was just about it.

Not that she wasn't seeing him at work. Although they were both agents, he was in an 'enhanced' training program and she was one of his trainers. The new Intersect skills were glitchy at best, both deadly and unreliable. The worst of both worlds. After wasting millions trying to get him to flash more or less at will, General Beckman wasn't about to move him out of a situation that got him to do exactly that. He had to learn control, with the assistance of someone who could take it if he failed.

At other times, like now, he would be, in a manner of speaking, _her_ trainer. She wanted a real life, but she had no idea what a real life was, or how to live it. He would bring her music and movies, sometimes to experience together, like the first Star Wars trilogy (which, for some odd reason, started in the middle of the series) but often for her to listen to alone (like the second Star Wars series, which was supposed to be the beginning). He wanted her to make up her own mind what she liked or didn't.

She'd been cleaning her gun while listening to something called bluegrass when her bell rang. In the time it took her to stand up the weapon was reassembled and loaded, as she checked the monitor to see who it was. There was a peephole, but no self-respecting spy would use that. The screen showed a face she knew all too well, which was why her hand was on her gun when she opened the door. "What do you want, Carina?"

* * *

Across town…

Chuck hung the last of his Nerd Herd outfits in his closet, his other suits stored away at Castle. His laundry was done, the dishes were done, the bed was made, the floor was vacuumed. He stood in the center of his domain and gave a satisfied nod. Naturally, that was the moment when his phone buzzed at him, and he checked the message. _Carina wants to go clubbing. Help!_

Time to go to work. The only problem being Morgan wanted to play. If Chuck didn't play with him, he would insist on joining in on whatever game Chuck was playing. Not a lot of options when Morgan was involved.

With a soft sigh, Chuck seemed to deflate slightly. His shoulders slumped, his posture sagged. He shoved the phone in his pocket and opened his bedroom door. The living room floor was almost bare, a few items of furniture and lots of boxes cluttering it up. Ellie and Devon had taken their furniture with them, of course, and Morgan had been living in the Home Theater room at the Buy More, so he didn't bring much to the partnership.

The only part of the room that was set up was the area where the gaming station waited, with two chairs. Morgan was taking the concept of the Bachelor Pad far too literally for Chuck's liking. If he could work at the Buy More from home, he would. Chuck shuffled over that way and plopped himself down in a chair, picking up one of the controllers. He played the game a while, pondering how best to do this, before settling on the old tried and true. "I heard Jeff and Lester talking about Sarah today."

Morgan lowered his controller with a thump. Slacking at work and video games at home were all well and good, but this had to end. He'd been hearing from Jeff and Lester and great drooling length about all the sugar daddies Sarah had taken up with in Chuck's absence. "Dude, you have got to stop listening to those two about Sarah." He'd seen her himself, that night at the Buy More, and knew she was totally into his bud.

Chuck pointed frantically at the screen. "You can at least pause the game!" _Please, Mr. Fox, don't throw me into that briar patch…_

Morgan looked at him sadly. "Sure, I can pause the game, but there's no pause control on life…"

* * *

Night. Club. "Not a single word," said Sarah to her companion.

"You know me, Walker," said the red-haired beauty. "Never use a single word when I can use lots."

"And yet you use none," said Sarah. "You show up unannounced–" on her doorstep, how odd "–and drag me off to this place like mine was bugged or something." Which it wasn't, she checked for bugs every day. She waved at the air, the noise. Leering men, jealous women. "I have to put up with this sort of crap enough at work."

Carina recalled the scene she'd walked in on, Sarah cleaning her guns, alone, while listening to that…sound. "Live a little."

The same words, yet they meant opposite things by them. How odd. Sarah preferred Chuck's method. "I was." She lifted her drink to her lips.

"That music had only a little more cultural panache than a porta-potty."

Sarah slammed her drink back down on the bar. "I'll tell Agent Carmichael you said that."

"Jesus, Walker, what's gotten into you?" said Carina, taking a sip of her drink. "Or should I say who? Agent Carmichael, huh?"

The Ice Queen mask went up, and Sarah tried that whole 'drink' concept again. "We have a very professional relationship."

"I'm sure," said Carina, but then her eyes went wide. "Well, well, well, Walker!" She seized Sarah's wrist, pulling it close and holding it still. " _Two_ hearts?" she asked, touching the charms without bothering to ask. "You _have_ been busy. Chuck and…Sam? Who's Sam, is he Carmichael?"

Sarah pulled her wrist back. "Sam is no one you know. Chuck is Carmichael."

Carina remembered Chuck. The only man to ever make her feel guilty. "Your asset? The stereo store clerk?"

Sarah shook her head. "None of the above. He's an agent now."

Carina smirked. "And you went from being his handler to being his handler, good move."

Sarah gave her the stink-eye. "Purely. Professional."

"Oh." Carina nodded. "So you're sleeping with him." Hearts on a bracelet was a bit classier than notches in belts. "As long as you didn't break the cardinal rule."

* * *

Chuck knew exactly where Sarah was, of course, but since Jeff and Lester were already on the job he let Morgan do the work. Soon enough he was being 'reluctantly dragged' into some club somewhere, they popped up like mushrooms in LA. "I don't know, Morgan, perhaps this isn't the best time…"

"Hey, there's Sarah," said Morgan loudly, pointing. Then he saw who was following her across the floor. "And Carina." He pounded Chuck on the shoulder. "I'll go rustle us up some drinks, while you go make sure about your lady." Before Chuck could say anything he disappeared into the crowd.

Chuck flashed, and disappeared into the crowd himself, practically invisible. The only time Sarah or Carina saw him was when he loomed up out of the crowd right in front of them. "Hello, ladies."

"Chuckles?" said Carina. "What is this, you're stalking us now?"

"Not at all," said Chuck, much less flustered in her presence than he used to be. "Sarah asked me to be here. Well, not _here_ here, but _wherever she was_ here."

"I sent him a practice distress call," said Sarah, playing along easily because it also happened to be true. "He was supposed to use his skills to track me down without letting me or any hypothetical kidnappers see him."

Carina wasn't sure how she felt being cast as a kidnapper, hypothetical or otherwise. "Good job, Chuckles. Or do you go by Carmichael now?"

Chuck made shushing gestures with his hands. "Ix-nay on the Armichael-cay," he said, looking around. "I'm in character." He gestured toward Sarah, but spoke to Carina. "Morgan thinks he's doing me a favor, trying to get us back together."

"Who's Morgan?" asked Carina.

Apparently their one-and-only 'date' was more memorable to his best bud than to her. "You're breaking his heart, in absentia," said Chuck.

Suddenly a man in a white shirt grabbed Carina from behind, and Chuck flashed. Sarah was watching her friend's hand as Carina pushed a huge diamond around so it showed on her left hand, and didn't notice Chuck's flash until he started to attack. Before the punch landed, she grabbed his arm and pulled him around, pressing his hand against her shoulder as she kissed him soundly. This proved to be a good distraction, and she felt the tension leave his body.

"I see it's going around," said the man in the white shirt, in a thick accent.

"You are inspiring," said Sarah, turning to face them with a smile.

"He's more than that," said Carina. "He's also my fiancé, Karl Stromberg. Karl, this is Sarah, my best friend, and Chuck, her–"

"Boyfriend," said Chuck, emphasizing his grip on Sarah's shoulder. "Carina's told us so much about you. Good to finally meet you, put a face to the name."

"You're exactly as she described you," said Sarah.

"I hope not," said Karl. "Every day with my smooshy makes me better–" smooch "–and better." Smooch. "I really hope that shows."

"Never as much as how I love you, smoosh," said Carina, with more sloppy kissing noises. It was almost nauseating, and Chuck and Sarah were having a hard time keeping their smiles in place.

Mercifully, it ended. "How about you, Chuck?" asked Karl.

Um…"I can honestly say that Sarah holds my heart in her hands," said Chuck. He looked over Karl's shoulder, noticed Morgan making little headway at the bar. "She's the shining star on my horizon. Keeps me on course."

"That's terrific, Chuck, and I'm very happy for you both," said Karl. "But for right now, I have a lovely romantic dinner for two all arranged–" Smooch.

Chuck wasn't hungry, not after all that. "That's great, yeah, you go do that…romance thing."

"I'll meet you at the valet, smooshy," he said to Carina. Smooch.

"I'll miss you, smoosh," she said. Smooch.

"Wow," said Sarah, as Stromberg left. Carina waved, and they turned to see Karl wave back, the gesture revealing the long scar on his wrist. Chuck flashed, but he was facing away from Carina and she didn't notice, although Sarah did. "Chuck?"

"Arms dealer," said Chuck.

"Exactly," said Carina. "This wedding is my mission, and you just got yourselves invited. Congratulations." She smacked Chuck's arm lightly with her purse. "Let this be a lesson to you, Chuckles, the cardinal rule that Sarah already knows. Spies never fall in love."

* * *

 **A/N2** Three Words is already pretty close to what I had in mind for this series anyway. Not too many changes to be made. Just have to turn it upside-down and inside-out, and we'll be good. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N** Just so many unaddressed plot points in this part of canon. My plot is often progressing by filling in some of those gaps.

I don't own Chuck yet. (sigh)

* * *

" _Maybe love really has made me a better man."_

" _Live a little_ _."_

" _Sam is no one you know._ _"_

" _Spies never fall in love_ _._ _"_

* * *

Big Mike was on a roll, fewer calories than a doughnut, or even a danish. Buy More Corporate had seen fit to give him a second chance at management, and he was determined to make the best of it, beginning with his inaugural speech. "Are you prepared to do your best?"

Suddenly Chuck realized that Mike had been talking to him. "Uh, yes, sir. Every day." Do his best. Every day. He had people counting on him, and he could not, would not, let them down. Not even Carina, whatever this mission of hers might entail. Anyone could say no. The trick was finding the right way to say yes.

* * *

"Yes, Morgan, I'm sure you have every chance in the world to recapture the affections of a six-foot-tall Swedish supermodel," said Chuck. If he'd ever captured them in the first place, that is, but since Morgan hadn't, it wasn't technically a lie. When he'd finally returned from the bar with some drinks, it had been to see Carina leaving on the arm of another man, and he'd been pining ever since. It didn't help that Jeff and Lester could smell pathetic hopes and dreams from a mile away. When they pressed their prey for some lurid details Morgan was more than willing to embellish on his delusions. Chuck could only watch. Fortunately, the situation could hardly go any further downhill.

Then Carina herself walked in the store. Morgan was the first to see her, too bad, and Chuck ran to catch up before his friend embarrassed himself any further than he already had. Morgan didn't even get a word in before she walked right past him, grabbed Chuck, and dragged him off to the Home Theater room.

"Yeah, it looks like she's really into _you_ , Grimes," said Lester.

"He's…just…being my wingman," said Morgan desperately. "I'm sure he's in there right now, talking me up."

"Whatever." Some female customers entered the store, and Jeff and Lester turned their one-track minds onto a different track.

Morgan walked up to the HT room, listening carefully, but he didn't hear anyone talking in there. The curtains were drawn. Fearing the worst, Morgan cracked open the door to the room, to see…nothing. No one was there. _What the hell?_

* * *

Chuck sat listening to the briefing with only one ear, less concerned about the details of Carina's mission than he was about the way she was undercutting all of Sarah's progress so far, with lines like 'spies don't fall in love'. Or maybe she was trying to undercut him, get him to doubt, to think that Sarah was playing him the way she was playing Karl. Assuming she _was_ playing Karl. Maybe Karl was playing her. But in either case, neither of them had been kissing in that gross motel room in Barstow and he had, so no, he wasn't about to start doubting Sarah now.

"Agent Carmichael, any problems?" asked the General.

Chuck snapped back to full attention. "For our part, no, General, but having checked Carina's math I really don't think Casey will fly as her father, or as a brother."

Beckman nodded. "A good point. The Colonel will pose as Agent Miller's uncle."

Chuck tuned out the grunts from both sides of the room, one satisfied, one less so. Carina's calm assurance that she could get a hold of Karl's security key troubled him a bit.

"Karl has also just installed a state-of-the-art security system inside the vault room," said Carina. "You'd better be prepared for anything you find there."

"Chuck is," said Sarah, with absolute confidence. "He can handle any security obstacle. There won't be a problem."

Carina was less confident. This whole thing was riding on the skills of a goddamn trainee. "There better not be." As if her wrath was the thing to fear if they blew this op.

* * *

Later that day…

Chuck was decking himself out in his engagement-party finest when Morgan came in dressed in his slacker casualest. "Where are you going, what are you doing, and who are you doing it with?" he asked, in subtle inquiry.

"Out," said Chuck. "Nothing, and no one special." His phone rang, with Sarah's image. "I better get that."

"Yeah," said Morgan. _Wait a tick! Sarah and Carina are friends!_ "I can go…"

"No you can't."

"Okay."

"Okay." Chuck put phone to ear. "On my way out now."

* * *

"He's moving," said Sarah, tossing the phone on the bed. She picked up a knife for her shoe.

"Good," said Carina. She chambered a round in her pistol, and stuck it into the thigh holster under her dress. "Let's go get me engaged."

"Hold on," said Sarah, picking up her charm bracelet.

Carina watched her put it on with practiced ease. "Not something a spy would wear."

Sarah rotated her hand, felt the charms settle. "No, but it is something a woman in love would wear." She stroked the charms. "It's a good cover."

"Yeah," said Carina. "A good cover."

* * *

Chuck looked around, as he put his phone away. "Where are my keys?"

"I'll help you look, but…" He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. "You have to promise to give this to Carina."

Chuck took the paper and unfolded it. "A housewarming party? Here?" Great, that would keep Morgan busy, but Carina would be long gone by then. "Sure."

"Oh, look." Morgan pulled Chuck's keys from his pocket.

"Should have known."

"Have fun."

* * *

Chuck and Sarah spun into the driveway of Karl's mansion in her Porsche, not a cool-looking spy car _at all._ There was valet service, but like many of them, she parked it herself rather than risk the slightest scratch. Hordes of well-dressed people were walking around them. "How does he know all these people?" asked Chuck as they walked in.

"I'm pretty sure ATF is asking the same question," said Sarah, quietly. No doubt most of these vehicles would be carrying some form of tracker when they left the grounds, a nice bonus.

Carina and Karl were waiting to greet everybody in the foyer. "Congratulations, Karl," said Chuck. "You're a lucky man."

"Thanks, Chuck." Karl punched him lightly on the shoulder. "I'm sure you're gonna be the next up at the altar."

"Maybe," said Chuck, "But I think we both have a way to go before we're ready for that. I know I don't want to go there until I think I can make her the happiest woman on Earth."

"And I really would be," said Sarah, laying her head on his shoulder.

Carina watched her cozy up to Chuck with a slight frown, and turned to look elsewhere. "Oo, Karl, Honey," she said, "Let me introduce you to my Uncle Johnny." Carina led Karl away, but Chuck and Sarah didn't try to see Karl's introduction to a disguised John Casey.

Following a waiter with a tray of baby lamb chops, they headed further into the house and the crowd. "You know, I've been to these things a million times," said Sarah. "It never occurred to me before, to imagine it for real, you know."

Chuck snagged a chop, not that he planned on eating it. "What, you, a real girl, really getting engaged, to a man you really love?"

"Yeah," said Sarah breathlessly. She stroked a hand up his arm. "Crazy, huh?"

He took her hand. "Not at all," said Chuck. He kissed her hand. "Just really bad timing. It really needs to be just a cover, for now, Sarah."

She came closer, as if planting a kiss on his cheek. "The target bedroom's at your six o'clock. Meet you there?" She walked away, leaving him gaping.

Something slammed into him from the side, and he dropped the lamb chop, forgetting to flash in his anxiety for the flooring. Carina pushed him along until she was sure she had his attention. "What the hell are you doing to my mission?" she hissed. "I've been watching you more than you've been watching me. I need two spies at my back, not some blissed-out loving couple."

"I'm trying to keep it cool," said Chuck.

"Try harder," said Carina. She punched him lightly in the chest. "She's breaking the cardinal rule, Chuck. She's falling in love." With a light pat on his cheek she left him, to go after Karl.

Chuck went after his partner. Would being a real girl, having a real life, make Sarah vulnerable? He couldn't allow that. Not while she was a spy too. Agent Carmichael would have to guard her, even as she was guarding Agent Bartowski.

* * *

Carina caught up to Karl in the library, where he was going over his notes, yet again. She liked that stack of cards, the size of it. It meant a long speech, plenty of opportunity for her team to complete the mission. "You must know that toast by heart."

"Yeah, pretty much."

"You're gonna do great."

"Thanks." If Karl hadn't initiated the embrace himself she would have. "What did a bloke like me do to deserve someone like you?"

Carina ran down the list of charges in her head, as her hand dipped into Karl's pocket. Just as she pulled out the vault key, the library doors opened, and a couple stumbled in, obviously more interested in their kissing than they were in where they were going. The man's foot caught on the carpet and the stumbled, almost falling, but Karl and Carina were there to keep them upright.

"Chuck?" said Karl with a grin.

"I blame you," said Chuck breathlessly. "You and those altars of yours."

The happy couple laughed. "Let's leave them to it," said Karl. "I have a toast to deliver."

"Let's do it," said Carina, taking his arm and pulling him away.

* * *

Karl wanted their attention, and he got it. Whoever all the people were that he'd invited to his little party, they gathered obediently at the base of the stairs when summoned to do so. No one noticed Chuck and Sarah skulking around the upper bedroom. "I'd like to make a toast to my beautiful bride to be," said Karl, pulling out his stack of cards. "Since the first time I met Carina, I knew I'd found the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. I've never met anyone more real, more honest, more good. Not never. A toast to the future Mrs. Stromberg."

The crowd raised their glasses as required, and began to disperse.

"Is that it?" asked Carina. "All those cards…?"

"Pretty much, yeah," said Karl. "I hate long speeches. I just put different versions on each card. I'd try them out, to see which one felt right." He shuffled through them, and Carina saw basically a single sentence on each, some longer, some shorter, none of them long enough for her needs.

"Oh, wait a bit," said Karl. The crowd paused, and regrouped, and he directed his words to them. "Um…Also, may our first child be a masculine child." The crowd raised their glasses as required, and began to disperse.

 _Carina we just got to the vault,_ said Sarah's voice in her ear.

"Please, Karl," said Carina loudly. "I just know my Uncle Johnny is dying to say something."

Normally when Casey felt that many eyes on him he'd go for his gun. "All right." He walked over to the stairs and climbed up to the step below Carina's, as slowly as he could. "I'm not ordinarily a man of many words. Or any words, for that matter." He grunted, and the crowd laughed.

 _Be that guy,_ said Sarah's voice in his ear.

Casey took a deep breath. "But in this case I'm willing to make an exception. I remember when I first set eyes on sweet Carina," he said pausing in silent contemplation, listening to Chuck grunt into his ear, trying desperately to remember any child he'd ever met. "I was practically just a boy when my big brother brought home the most beautiful baby girl in the world…" Not working. Time to move on. He pulled a memory from later in his life. "I'm so proud of Carina. So beautiful, so giving, so warm, so kind. Approachable, so good at conversation. All of those qualities are reflected in the man she's chosen to be her life partner."

 _Chuck!_ said Sarah's voice in their ears. Behind the crowd, Karl's henchmen raced to the stairs.

Casey kept the crowd's attention, and Karl's, on himself. "And I just know that if my brother were still alive today, well, he'd wanna say welcome to the family. And take care of our little girl."

 _There's gas in here!_ said Chuck.

"You're doing fine, Johnny," said Karl, practically in tears. "Let it all out."

 _Chuck, listen to me! I'm turning off the gas. Take shallow breaths, and focus on the sound of my voice. Chuck, I know when we met I was just a regular spy…"_

"…just a regular guy, but I have to say that since you came into my life I've become so much more than I ever thought I could be. I'd learned a lot of wrong lessons, but you made me see how wrong they were. Love can be a source of strength, not a weakness. It isn't just for suckers. You've made me a better…guy, a real…man. Thank you for that." He raised his glass again, still strangely full. "A toast to Karl and Carina. Their love is an inspiration to us all."

* * *

Sarah looked at the fallen guards, but none were trying to get up again. They'd entered the combination and readied their weapons for an attack coming from inside the vault, not from above. She pressed 'Enter' on the pad, and the door hissed open.

Chuck sat in a yoga position on a chest, his face serene but pale, almost not breathing at all. "Chuck, wake up," said Sarah.

His eyes opened, and he took a deep breath. "Sarah." He hopped off the chest, and picked up the case. "Did you just say something?"

For a moment Sarah looked bewildered, almost sad. Then the moment passed. "No," said Agent Walker.

* * *

 **A/N2** I noticed a few interesting bits of symbolism, too. 1) right after Jeff tells Morgan he has to be a stallion, Morgan is shown wearing a t-shirt with a silhouette of a stallion on it. That scene wasn't in here since I had no plans to change it. 2) When Carina tells Chuck Sarah loves him, she smacks him in the jaw and then pats him on the chest, which reminded me of Chuck saying 'go with your heart, your head will only mess things up'. I did change that here, reversing the order.

Casey's speech in canon really was a paint-peeler, wasn't it? I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N** Hard to pace everything to come out in the right order. Since Sarah could hardly claim to be part of the problem I had to put her conversation with the General to a different use. A very minor exercise in dramatic irony, one of my least favorite literary techniques.

* * *

" _Are you prepared to do your best?_ _"_

" _Not something a spy would wear."_

" _I'm trying to keep it cool_ _._ _"_

" _Did you just say something?"_

* * *

"Excellent work securing the weapon," said General Beckman, looking at the disc-shaped object in the gold suitcase, and the three people clustered around it. "Where is Agent Carmichael?"

"He's resting, but listening in, General," said Sarah, with a wave to where Chuck lay on a cot, out of range of the camera. "Whatever gas that was in the vault, he minimized absorption by slowing his breathing and pulse, but he took a broad-spectrum anti-toxin when we got back, just in case."

* * *

Sarah's statement was a bit of a lie, since Chuck was not actually listening in to the meeting. So far it had gone as he expected, only the General's claim that the nature of the weapon was above their pay grade provoking the slightest quirking of his eyebrows. As a nerd he was curious, but as a spy he'd learned to put that nerd in a box at need. He just wished that sort of 'need to know' could be applied to the Intersect. At the moment, there was something else he was far more interested in knowing.

In the vault he'd had to turn his mind and thoughts inward to save his life, at the cost of being unable to pay any attention to what Sarah said to him as she was taking more effective steps to the same end. Now he was trying to recollect whatever parts of her speech had made it into his all-too-perfect memory. Unfortunately, Casey had been making a speech of his own at the same time, and his words overlapped and cancelled out hers. It was very frustrating.

He went deeper.

* * *

"Very good," said Beckman. "But it's the only thing that is. Explain to me the failure in the vault."

She wasn't angry, not yet. Not as long as they understood their error and took it into account in the future.

"I believe it was the dust, ma'am," said Sarah, who had been there. State-of-the-art security systems include roving lasers, which are invisible, so infiltrators use fine dust to reveal them. "It settles slowly, and our agents move slowly. Agent Carmichael, however, moved quickly. I believe he disturbed the dust until it no longer revealed at least one of the beams."

"The gas attack also appears to have been unexpected," said Beckman. "I expect this to be a lesson to you all. Agent Carmichael's skills are no excuse for poor tradecraft. Do not weaken yourselves."

"No, ma'am," said Casey. "We already spar with Agent Carmichael on a daily basis, to develop his control."

Sarah nodded. "By the time his skills would be developed enough to hurt us, he should have mastered them enough not to hurt us."

"Good, but not enough. Agent Walker, Colonel Casey, once Agent Miller is on her way with the case, I expect you to make a full and detailed analysis of his abilities, and how they may _intersect_ with our standard procedures. Dismissed."

* * *

His cot vibrated, and Chuck opened his eyes. Casey, Carina, and the gold case were gone. Sarah was tapping the leg with her foot. "Agent Carmichael," she said. "If you're feeling up to it, it's time to train."

One short walk to the dojo later…

Sarah selected a staff from the rack and tossed another to him. "Flash on the bo, Chuck."

She barely waited before attacking him, and he defended himself with his native, if rudimentary, weapons skills. Not good enough. "Attack me, Chuck," she ordered.

"I don't want to hurt you, Sarah."

She tapped him lightly in the belly. "I know you don't, Agent Carmichael, but someday someone will, and I need to know what to do about it."

"Ah," said Chuck. "Me whetstone, you knife." He flashed, and the bo became a living thing in his hands. He started out with a more basic set of defensive moves, spins and blocks, but those morphed into attacks very easily, and soon he was matching her blow for blow. Then he started speeding up, and she couldn't match that. She tried to retreat, to disengage, but the Intersect moved to follow her, and he couldn't make it stop. "Sarah, help!"

She planted her bo and pole-vaulted into his chest, knocking him into the wall. He let go of the bo and slid down the wall. "That was great, Chuck," said Sarah, reaching down a hand to help him stand.

"What do you mean, great?" he asked, rising. "I could have killed you."

"No you couldn't, Chuck," said Sarah. "The Intersect would, but it can't. Unlike us, it can't switch disciplines that fast." She made a note of that weakness as she readied her staff again. "You will, with more practice, but by then you'll be in charge. Don't worry, nothing will go wrong."

* * *

Upstairs, Carina had exited the Orange Orange with the case, but before she could get to her car her spy senses told her that something had gone wrong. She ducked between the mommy-mobiles, scanning the lot for enemies.

One of Karl's SUVs was driving slowly through the lanes. She heard the words 'tracking' and 'Burbank' through the window. Dammit! She had a bug on her, one of Karl's loving protective measures, no doubt. No time to find it, she had to lose the case before they got her. No way to get back the OO, she had to go forward, into the Buy More, and get to Castle that way.

Except the damn Home Theater room was occupied. She went around the edges of the store, in case Karl and his thugs came in. Then she saw him, that short bearded guy, Chuck's friend, what was his name? "Martin?"

As always, he looked at her like he'd just picked up a winning lottery ticket, even though he tried to act cool. "Yes, Miss…?"

There they were. One stayed by the exit while the others went up the aisles, so she pulled back behind the display case. "My laptop is broken," she said, holding the case out. "Get this to Chuck, will you? No one else."

"I will," he said, taking the case, "Provided you go to my party tonight." He held up a flyer.

She grabbed the paper, not expecting to be alive tonight but at least the objective was secure. "Fine. Remember, Chuck and no one else." She ran past him, past the bathrooms and into the employee break room, and from there to some kind of an exit.

The door opened onto the store floor, and with her luck today, they were looking at her when it did. She closed it and turned to go elsewhere, but…"Hello, smooshie," said Karl, blocking the other door and spinning a gun on his finger far too casually. "You haven't been returning my calls. I'm beginning to think you've got cold feet."

Moments later she was alone in the back of Karl's SUV with the man himself. "What's going on?"

"Yesterday, someone stole something very valuable from me," said Karl. "So now, I'm thinking you're not who you say you are. I'm thinking, you're a spy."

"A spy? That's ridiculous," said Carina. "This is me, Smoosh. The woman who loves you."

Karl looked doubtful, but determined. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a thumb drive, plugging it into a slot in the roof of the car. A little monitor lit up with an image, a man, sitting cross-legged on a chest with clouds of gas rising. "You remember him, don't you?"

"Yes, but what does this have to do with me? He's my friend's boyfriend."

"Speaking of your friend, your _best_ friend, you'll never guess what the microphones picked up." Karl touched a dial, spinning the volume to max. "I'm not like Carina," said Sarah's tinny voice. "Not some cold-hearted spy that throws words like 'love' around…" Karl dialed it down.

"She didn't say I was a spy, Karl," said Carina. "Sounds to me like _she's_ a spy, but not the kind who uses words like 'love', the way I do. God knows she's heard me throw it around a lot, ever since I met you, smoosh."

"Maybe," said Karl. He held up Morgan's crumpled flyer. "And maybe I'll go have a talk with this Chuck. Then, after I kill him, _maybe_ I'll kill your friend Sarah. And then, maybe I'll kill you."

* * *

The airport reported her missing. The car rental place hadn't received her car. That was still in the parking lot upstairs. "What have we got, guys?" asked Chuck.

"Every branch of the entire US Intelligence community is looking for her," said Sarah.

"Uncle Sam's best and brightest are on the case," said Casey.

"So we got nothing." Chuck's phone rang. Morgan. Right, party. "Kind of in the middle of something right now, Mor–what about Carina? She's there in the apartment right now?"

Casey called up the surveillance while Sarah reported in to the General. The monitor showed Karl and Carina sitting on the sofa, not looking at all relaxed as Karl's goons tossed the apartment. A real waste of time, thought Chuck. They should have just let the Buy More crew inside for two minutes.

"No, Morgan," shouted Chuck, still on the phone. "That would be _dangerous_ …ly uncool. Women like her crave the mystery, you know what I mean? Stay away, stay far away. Good, yeah, well, that's…sort of what I meant." He turned to the rest of the team. "That won't hold him long. Let's go."

* * *

Carina watched helplessly as her awful luck on this awful held true to its awful form. She didn't know why those freaks from the party brought a tray of drinks in for people who obviously, or maybe not so obviously, weren't in a partying mood. She did recognize it as yet another opportunity to even the odds a bit between her and Karl, staging a diversion with the tall geeky one and dumping the contents of her special ring into three of the four glasses. She wasn't sure why she bothered, really, the glasses smelled pretty powerful all on their own.

Which maybe explained why Karl refused to have anything to do with them.

If the two drunken louts had simply left she might have been able to make something of the situation. Instead they apparently forgot why they brought the drinks inside in the first place, guzzled some of the doctored glasses, and promptly fell down in two smelly heaps. Well, at least the powder worked as it was supposed to.

Kind of hard to claim not to be a spy now, but Karl seemed more upset that she'd gimmicked the ring he'd given her, so she kept her peace. Out of options, all she could do was hope the rest of the team could pull some kind of victory out of this cesspool.

The goons parted, but by this time she was afraid even to look up. Someone was coming in, oh no it was that guy Martin, or whatever his name was. He looked unhappy with the situation, join the club. Wait a minute, he was mad at _her_?

She fought down a fit of the giggles, pretty sure that nobody in the room would take them the right way. Karl had threatened to kill her and all this 'Morgan Guillermo Grimes' saw was them cuddling on his couch? And now he was giving her the heave-ho? Who did he think he was?

No really, who _did_ he think he was? Everyone in the room was bigger than him, but he was ordering them out. Wow. That took real…Suddenly she found the little man…interesting. Until he opened the one chest in the room that Karl's goons had managed to miss, and handed over the case. Until he took the last doctored glass and knocked himself out. Just as well, Karl was looking more than ready to kill someone and she didn't want it to be Morgan, not now. "No one's ever said no to me before."

Suddenly the courtyard erupted in screams. The goons checked the door. "Her friends?" asked Karl. They shook their heads, and he pushed Carina out the door in front of him, carrying the case himself.

The courtyard was soaked, some guy in a bathrobe carrying a hose back toward his door. The first bright spot in Karl's otherwise awful day. "Sorry to have troubled you, sir," he said genially.

Bathrobe guy grunted a surly response. Karl could sympathize.

Wait a minute. He'd heard that grunt before.

Black-clad figures leapt from the shadows. "Weapons down!" shouted one, a female from the sound of her. Best Friend Sarah with guns, and Boyfriend Chuck carrying one those, wossname, tiki-torches, like a quarterstaff. Bathrobe guy turned as well, guns instead of a hose in his hands.

"Uncle Johnny?" said Karl incredulously. "But I _liked_ that speech!"

"I was channeling a higher power that day," said Casey. "Give it up, lover boy."

"Give what up?" said Karl. "I'm having the worst day of my life, so I don't give a–"

Chuck tossed his torch into the courtyard pool, a toxic waste dump for every noxious brew ever created by man. The flame fizzled and went out. But while the goons were looking at the torch he pulled out a flash bang and threw that at the fountain. The contents of those burn even under water, and the pool blew up. Blinded and knocked down by the foul-smelling blast, the goons were no match for the fists and feet of Chuck's team.

Only Karl remained, clutching what we valued most. And the case. "You shoot me, I shoot her. I don't care. This bitch broke my heart."

"And you think hers isn't breaking too?" asked Sarah. "You think that just because she's a Federal Agent with a job to do, that she can just shut off her feelings like that garden hose. It doesn't work like that, Karl. We may be spies but we're women too. We couldn't possibly get you to open up, get you to take the chance on love that you've so clearly taken, if we didn't feel some portion of that love ourselves."

Carina turned in his grasp, to look into his face. "She's right, Karl. At first you were just another assignment, but somewhere along the way the love I pretended became real."

Karl lowered his gun, smiling. "Really?"

Carina stole his gun, took his case, and left him unconscious in the bushes without turning completely around. "No. Not really." She looked at Sarah suspiciously. "Such eloquence, two days in a row."

"No," said Sarah, pulling out her earwig as Chuck stepped out from behind a bush, his transmitter by his mouth. "Not really."

* * *

 **A/N2** If you drop a cigarette into gasoline it just drowns. The torch should have done the same, but as a distraction it works very well.

I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N** So what is the terrible secret that Beckman is talking about here? I'm looking into the number on the briefcase, maybe that's a clue. It looks like 70403 to me. There's not a lot to Shaw's first appearance here, but I'm trying to fill it out a bit.

Thanks to Zettel for his thoughts on the final scene.

* * *

" _Where is Agent Carmichael?"_

" _Nothing will go wrong_ _."_

" _That won't hold him long._ _"_

" _No. Not really._ _"_

* * *

Chuck stood staring at the gold case, as if X-ray vision was one of the skills in the Intersect. Apparently it wasn't, as he approached the table, sat, and reached for the catches. General Beckman hit her override, opening a channel to the screen in Casey's living room whether he wanted it or not.

Normally she wouldn't spend her valuable time on such minutiae, wouldn't hit them over the head with the knowledge that they could be and sometimes were under surveillance. It undermined trust. If they couldn't be trusted with the materials that fell into their hands they wouldn't have been on the team. But this day, this time, was not normal, and she had orders of her own.

"Don't touch it, Agent Bartowski."

If he was startled by her sudden appearance, or her directive, he didn't show it, at least not as extremely as he used to. He looked back at his team, and Beckman watched the situation slide out of her control with that look. Her sudden unexplained presence hinted at secrets, and they didn't like secrets. Chuck turned back, gesturing at the case. "I was thinking that maybe if I looked at it I could flash."

Proactive, as usual. In this case that was not what the Powers That Be wanted, which annoyed General Beckman considerably, since she was used to being one of those powers. Today, she, like they, was getting her nose rubbed in it. "No, thank you," she said, trying to be gentle about it since it wasn't his fault. "All Ineed to know is that it's back in safe hands. Colonel Casey will stay with it until a team arrives to secure it. That is all." She terminated the connection before the debacle got any worse.

On the other side of her desk a man sat, watching the whole confrontation on a repeater screen. Beckman couldn't say she liked him, he certainly hadn't given her any cause to do so. By taking even partial control of her team away from her he done just the opposite, but she recognized that as her own pride and territoriality speaking, and did her best to suppress the emotion. She'd failed, with Bartowski, and the CIA had seen an opportunity to get their foot back in the door, after Graham's death.

Unfortunately it was a left foot, rather than a right one. A bit clumsy, off-putting, and not quite true. Like the thing with the lighter. Every time he flipped that thing open and struck it, a little alarm went off in her head, even though no alarms went off in her office. She knew some of his history, though, enough that she was able to put the behavior into the 'nervous twitch' category. If she tried to do anything more than that, the Powers That Be that had had saddled her with him would see it mostly as her jealous defensiveness. He had his due authority, and she had to respect that.

The man with the lighter stood up and headed toward the door, his intentions unstated, but she knew he was going to claim the case and its contents, for whatever reason. She didn't know what the disc was, either. If it was above Casey's pay grade it was also above her own, not that she'd told him that. She tried again. "We–" meaning _you_ "–can't keep this a secret anymore, it's too dangerous." Just the little bit that they'd shown her, that _he'd_ shown her, made that abundantly clear. "We need to tell them, they need to be prepared." Not that any team could be prepared for what was soon going to be coming their way, if his analysis was correct. "Shaw, please."

The man called Shaw paused at her door, the knob in his hand, and raised a finger to his lips. He didn't bother with any of the human touches–a raised brow, quirked lips, a whispered 'shhh'–just that finger, then he let himself out.

* * *

Chuck was walking through the courtyard, absently picking up random trash and sticking it in a box, as he pondered Beckman's strange behavior. There wasn't much to ponder, and his main conclusion so far was that he didn't have enough data, but that didn't stop the computer in his head from spinning out alternative scenarios. He'd just have to gather more intel and narrow the field.

Sarah came out and stood by, watching him. "You did good work today." A 'today' that had started yesterday, run into last night and then this morning. A long day for all of them. Shoot-outs were easy, paperwork was not. Intelligence, in order to be intelligence and not simply a collection of events, had to be understood in a way that allowed for connections to other intelligence, and the agents on the scene had to do the first part of that understanding. In most cases, that meant describing the situation, the sequence of events, clearly, without coloring the record with their own basic assumptions. A lot of their training went into that skill, seeing what was in front of them, not the interpretation most people would automatically impose upon it. The analysts took it from there.

Sarah preferred the shoot-outs, the chases. Concrete problems with concrete solutions. While she recognized the importance of what they did, in many ways more important than what she did, she couldn't imagine what it must be like living in an analyst's head. She suddenly wondered if Chuck did. Probably not, the Intersect seemed to do exactly the opposite of what analysts did–what was the opposite of analyst, anyway, and was there anyone else who did it for a living?–but maybe… something…her mind bogged down in the unfamiliar thoughts and moved on. Just tired.

Thinking about Beckman reminded Chuck of other concerns. "I managed not to kill anyone with my staff this time." He pulled the burnt length of the tiki-torch out of the pool, and tossed it toward the garbage bins, also without killing anyone.

"Doesn't surprise me. You've always had a knack for using ordinary things in unconventional ways," said Sarah, for whom quarterstaves were ordinary things. "That's your strength. Your ability to use anything, even your own feelings, and accomplish your objective. Not the skills." Not quite the message she wanted to send. She was there to guard his heart, he'd put her there himself. "Look at last night. Agent Bartowski won that, not Agent Carmichael. You might not have flashed but you did your job. You got to Karl, you talked him down. If it weren't for your emotions he would have killed Carina."

"You can't give me all the credit," said Chuck. "I just supplied the words. You said them. You had to have the emotions, too, not just me. If you hadn't meant it, it wouldn't have worked."

Sarah grimaced. "Do me a favor, don't tell Carina," she said. "She's pretty big on the whole 'no feelings' thing, in case you didn't notice. I'd never hear the end of it."

"I haven't seen her all morning. Don't see her, can't tell her." Which sort of implied he might tell Carina if he saw her, not an impression he wanted to leave Sarah with. "Don't worry, partner," said Agent Carmichael. "I got your back."

"Good to know," said Sarah. _Where_ was _Carina?_ They all had their cleanup chores, Casey was moving Jeff and Lester right now, but she'd just vanished. "You're on your own with the courtyard. Beckman told us to take the rest of the day for recovery. I'll see you at work tomorrow." She walked by him, away from him, keeping a careful distance at all times.

Chuck found that distance agreeable. He couldn't protect her from herself if he allowed her to get too close. Other parts he didn't so readily agree with, and he lowered his box. "This is stupid." He got out his phone and pressed the contact for the roommate whose party this had been, but no one picked up. "Morgan? Dude, I'm all alone cleaning up your mess. This better have been worth it buddy."

* * *

Yes. Yes it was.

* * *

That afternoon found Chuck alone in Castle, since 'take the rest of the day off' really meant 'keep a rotating skeleton crew on duty' while everyone else got some shut-eye, and it was his turn. He heard the sound of Carina's boots and turned to see her enter the room, looking annoyingly fresh and relaxed. Where the hell had she _been_ all this time, and did he really want to know? "You're off?"

"Yup." More than ready to vacation the thought of Karl Stromberg out of her mind. Find herself another man, hopefully someone worth remembering. "St. Tropez. Sound appealing?"

He shrugged, not rising to her bait. "Incredibly. But, you know–" he waved a hand to include the whole base "–duty, assignment. General's orders. So I guess I'll stay here, at least for now."

"Still batting zero with you, aren't I? I guess that makes this more than a little appropriate." She handed him a flash drive. "Here. A little going-away present. You should take a look at it, or to be more precise, a listen, since the guy is pretty boring."

"Okay," said Chuck doubtfully, taking the drive. How boring did a guy have to be for Carina to find him dull?

She took advantage of the proximity to run a hand up his arm. "Jag kommer sakna dig, kompis."

Chuck flashed, translating the sentence in his head instantly, and almost replying in the same language. In his attempt to keep from opening his mouth he must have merely looked confused.

"It means 'I'll miss you' in Swedish," said Carina, with a smile.

 _I know._ "Oh," said Chuck, choking a bit as his English came back. "Well, I'll–we'll miss you too."

She sauntered off toward the stairs. "Some of you more than others, I'm guessing."

Chuck wasted no time thinking about it, instead considering the drive in his hand. Why did she give it to him? They weren't exactly friends, and what made her giving it to him appropriate? For a second he thought about calling Sarah, but she'd taken first shift and he didn't want to disturb her now for any reason. Reluctantly, he plugged it in, and a file played automatically.

A man sat cross-legged on a cabinet, unmoving as clouds filled the air. Chuck looked at himself, his posture, with surprise. He'd almost killed himself trying to sit like that in yoga class, way back when. He leaned closer to the speaker and heard something in the background. He toggled the volume to its highest setting. Sarah's voice.

"…Love can be a source of strength, not a weakness. It isn't just for suckers. You've made me a better spy, a real woman. Thank you for that." The voice paused briefly, before continuing in a softer tone. "But being a real girl means having to choose, doesn't it? To make choices that no spy ever does. I wish I had known that, when you asked me to guard your heart, but I didn't know what you were asking at the time. Maybe you didn't either. It certainly didn't seem like I had a choice, and maybe I didn't then, but I do now and I find myself already…I don't know the word, if there is a word."

On the screen, the clouds of gas stopped rising. Sarah must have reached the gas canister and shut it off. Her voice was louder, too. Firmer.

"You were everything I ever wanted, as a spy, but spies are very small things. Now I have so many things I want and I can't have them all. I want Agent Bartowski for the world, but that means I can't have Chuck Bartowski for myself. Is that stupid, or what? Chuck? _Chuck?_ "

He stopped the playback, and pulled the drive. _No, Sarah, it's not stupid._ He felt exactly the same about her. _That's just life._

* * *

 **A/N2** Canon separated Chuck and Sarah very artificially. The story of this season does depend on that separation, but I hope I've managed to achieve it more organically. They are keeping their distance to protect each other, refraining from anything too intimate until their situations have stabilized.

I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	11. Lifesaver

**A/N** I decided to go with Sexy Ellie rather than Annoying Ellie. Shoot me.

* * *

" _Don't touch it, Agent Bartowski."_

" _You did good work today_ _."_

" _This better have been worth it, buddy._ _"_

" _Is that stupid, or what?_ _"_

* * *

"She's gonna kill me," said Chuck into the microphone. "And it'll be all your fault. I just want you to know this."

"Sorry, Agent Carmichael," said the pilot. "But do you know how many courtyards have fountains in Echo Park?"

"More than one, I'm guessing." Chuck got out his phone, sending a signal. On a roof not too far away, above a fountain in a courtyard, a smoke flare ignited, spewing a green cloud into the air.

* * *

Ellie Woodcombe was looking for her broom when she thought she heard something go _thump_ upstairs. "Did you hear that?"

"Kind'a busy here, El," said Devon, instructions in one hand and some unfamiliar tools in the other. Neither of which prevented his ears from working, but they gave him a plausible excuse. The sound of the helicopter passing overhead was harder to ignore.

* * *

"Sonic baffles engaged," said the pilot, a little late.

Chuck readied himself to drop down on the far side of the apartment complex where he lived, before giving the pilot one final glare. "I'm leaving your name and address in my will." Then he was gone, dropping rapidly to the ground.

He uncoupled from the line but didn't bother putting on his jacket, an unnecessarily formal affair for the place and time. He ran around to the entrance of his housing complex, unable to hear the sound of the machine flying away, finally.

The courtyard was empty, the cloud of smoke above invisible to those who weren't looking for it, and Chuck went swiftly to his door and let himself inside. He lifted a pair of classes to his eyes and scanned the place, not seeing any heat signatures, and relaxed. Morgan was out, his fortunes and his night life having gone on an upswing of late. Chuck didn't know why that should be, but it made his life easier, with all the coming and going at odd hours.

He walked across the living room in the dark, and let himself into his own bedroom. Only after he'd closed the door did he turn on the light. He turned around. "Ah!"

"Dude, you gotta tell that pilot of yours to land someplace else," said Devon.

"And you gotta stop hanging out in spies' bedrooms," said Chuck, pulling his equipment case out from under his bed. "I'll make sure to tell the next Hollywood mogul hosting a party with a questionable guest list to wrap up early so I can be home on time. How's that?" He started unbuckling his harness.

Devon got up to help Chuck divest. "There's a limit to how much I can cover for you, bro, especially tonight. It's our anniversary."

Chuck folded up his harness, opened the case and threw it in, on top of the passports. "You've been married, what, three months?"

Devon stared, a little boggle-eyed, at the casual display of gear. "Not that anniversary, Chuck. The anniversary. _Our_ anniversary."

Medical School, day one. Chuck winced. "Not the broom closet story again."

"Not if you hurry over and hang that TV like you promised." Devon gave Chuck a sly wink. "We were gonna start with our wedding video and work our way backward."

Chuck groaned, getting out his casual wear and his tools. "Devon, I can't hear that. Or more importantly, un-hear that." He pulled out the shirt-tails and unbuttoned the shirt, exposing the dark material of his body armor.

Devon looked a little more boggled at this evidence of the less awesome parts of Chuck's secret job. "Whoa, dude, if that's what I think it is, you should leave it on. El's about ready to blow."

Chuck looked at his brother-in-law sadly, unstrapping his armor. "Seriously, Devon, if Ellie's 'about to blow' over some little thing that I have or have not done, you haven't been doing your job right."

* * *

Chuck kept his face firmly hidden behind the TV, not needing the instructions to do the job he wasn't being paid to do. The only thing more disturbing than Devon being all man-to-man was Devon being all man-to-woman, especially when the woman was Ellie and he was suddenly aware of his own lack of awesomeness toward her. Not something Chuck wanted to see. "Almost done."

"Oh," said Ellie, partly moaning, partly panting. "That's wonderful, Chuck. I take back everything I was thinking. You're a genius."

Chuck risked a look. Ellie was sitting in her favorite chair, getting a foot-rub from Devon. "Mm," she groaned, "With these hands he could have been a masseur."

"Heart surgeon will do," said Chuck. "Ready to fire her up?"

"Too late," said Ellie.

Chuck clapped his hands over his ears. "Ellie!"

Her head lolled in his direction. "You can go home now, little brother."

Hands came down. "I meant the TV."

Devon left off his manipulations, picking up the remote for the TV. "Yeah, we know what you meant, Chuck," he said with a laugh.

Ellie frowned at her brother. "I hate you, Chuck."

Devon clicked the remote and the screen lit up with a local news broadcast. Apparently some person of importance had fallen ill at an embassy function somewhere. Chuck and Devon both paid attention to what the lady at the desk had to say, for different professional reasons.

The condition, cardiac and quite serious, was still of less interest to the news than the man who had it, a foreign leader named Alejandro Fulgencio Goya. Many photos of him in his earlier days as a communist insurgent had apparently been declassified.

Chuck flashed on the still-classified ones, a history of violence that made his head spin and fists clench with a need to fight someone over something. Since only Devon and Ellie were in the room he decided this would not be a good idea, forcing himself to look away from the screen.

"Chuckster?" asked Devon, who knew only a part of Chuck's involvement in the spy life, the part that had nothing to do with the intersect. "Are you okay?"

Ellie snapped out of her blissed-out daze. "Chuck?"

"I'm okay, sis," said Chuck immediately. "Just a little light-headed, is all. I'll go home and eat something, fix it right up."

"I'll get you some leftovers," said Ellie, and she marched off into her kitchen.

As she left Chuck's phone went off, followed almost immediately by Devon's. "They're calling us in," said Chuck, looking at his screen.

"Me too," said Devon. He looked up at the TV, but the story had moved on to something involving puppies and cuteness. "You think–?"

"Seems a little coincidental, if you ask me," said Chuck. "Keep me in the loop?"

"Absolutely not," said Devon, loyal to his patients above all.

"Didn't think so," said Chuck. Only the best for his sister, and the best took their oaths seriously. "I won't tell you anything either."

Devon grabbed his doctor version of a go-bag. "Sounds good."

"Devon?" asked Ellie, coming in with a goodie-bag for her brother. She saw Devon's duffel and pouted. "No wedding video?"

Devon shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, El, but duty calls, and so did the hospital. Probably that Goya guy. Don't wait for me."

"I don't think I can."

Chuck grabbed the bag and fled, hands over his ears. "La-la-la-la, I'm not listening!"

* * *

Chuck didn't know when he'd enjoyed a briefing more. As he'd expected, the topic of the day was Premier Goya, leader of the island nation of Costa Gravas since forever. The criticality of his condition didn't seem to be a cause for concern to some of the people in the room, for whom his continued existence was both a personal and professional embarrassment. For a brief second Chuck's natural concern for the welfare of others, enhanced by his proximity to two doctors, warred with his own professional satisfaction at a win they didn't have to work for.

Of course it wasn't that easy, otherwise they could have just called him at home and given him the day off. "Premier Goya was in this country to announce that he was going to open up his country to free and democratic elections," said Beckman, and that put a whole different spin on things.

Any system anywhere has people who benefit from it, and those people have a natural interest in seeing that system continue, no matter who else suffers. Most of those people would kill to make sure of that. Some of those people, on the other hand, if they're smart, recognize that no system will continue forever, and plan ahead, handling the change rather than trying to prevent it. Goya, it seemed, was one of the second kind, and someone of the first kind was taking steps.

Casey tended to be one of the first kind himself. His only real objection to the whole situation was that someone else had gotten there first, while his plan to retrieve his perfect record needed him to do that. "Do we believe this?"

"We do," said the General, and Casey bent his head to finish assembling his weapon, muttering "Nuts" under his breath so softly only Chuck heard it. Beckman wasn't fooled. "We are going to prevent anything from happening which might interfere with this plan. Understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Casey.

Sarah put down her plate of leftovers, and wiped her mouth with a napkin. Party missions always made her hungry, no matter how much she ate beforehand. All that dancing. Given the suddenly laid on nature of this meeting, and the fact that the sight of roast beef was making her hungry, Beckman had chosen to overlook the activity down in that corner of the screen until Sarah drew attention to herself. "Are we assuming this was an assassination attempt, ma'am?"

It certainly looked like one. She could easily have staged it herself, although she preferred bullets in general and especially in this case. Poisons would have required her to get close to him, and he looked like the sort to get handsy. He'd also been the Premier of his nation for over thirty years, and that kind of life takes its toll, no matter how much of a military man he might have thought himself. Given his notorious fondness for cigars, one of Costa Gravas' main exports, and the way his uniforms were no longer quite so flattering, a convenient heart attack would have looked completely natural.

"We're assuming nothing at this time, Agent Walker. Your team will assume a protective stance but you will stand by until we can get the Premier's medical records and determine the true state of affairs. This brings me, finally, to the point of this meeting, which is your next assignment…"

 _Oh no…_

"The generalissimo is being treated at–"

"Let me guess," said Chuck, the closest he could come to being polite in this context. "Westside Medical?"

* * *

Devon Woodcombe, the man of the hour, strode the halls of Westside Medical like the god he resembled, studying the basics of the case as people scrambled to get out of his way. As he walked in the door, a soldier was telling someone to make sure to tell all the General's followers that he was of course alive, and would stay that way. Other soldiers hovered with weapons as nurses and aides removed the General's clothing. "Don't worry," he said as calmly as possible, which was pretty calmly, "The doctor's here."

* * *

An irritated Beckman contented herself with an arch look over her glasses. This one was coming pretty close to home, especially for new agent, however qualified. "Correct."

"I don't suppose I can recuse myself…?" Feeble hope.

Feeble joke. "Are you a judge?"

"No." He wasn't even the jury. He, like Casey and Sarah, was the executioner. "He won't tell us anything. He shouldn't tell us anything. He's a doctor, he took an oath."

"And so did you, Agent Bartowski. Get the data. That is your responsibility." The screen went black.

* * *

The soldier with the attitude said, "If anything happens to this man, I am holding you responsible."

Devon had held men's hearts in his hands. It took a lot to impress him. "If anything happens to this man, God and the AMA will hold me responsible," he said. "And my wife, and possibly the US government, so you're just gonna have to take a number. Right now, you and your men are the biggest things in my way."

The soldier nodded respectfully, and stepped aside.

* * *

 **A/N2** Devon's a bit more awesome than he was in canon, too. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N Had to change the conversations at the gala. This time Ellie was awake while Devon was the one sleeping it off, when Goya shows up at her door. Chuck, as usual, is not treated like a fool. Most important, Devon doesn't want to be a spy.**

* * *

" _She's gonna kill me."_

" _Heart surgeon will do_ _."_

" _We're assuming nothing at this time._ _"_

" _You're just gonna have to take a number._ _"_

* * *

Many hours later, Chuck had still thought of no solution to his dilemma. Devon had already booted the soldiers from the room, which made it harder to approach but also removed the possibility that any traitor among his men would get a chance at a second attack. Operating through intermediaries, Chuck's team had been receiving updates regularly, so they knew of Goya's recovery and imminent release long before the regular media. That was all they knew.

Not all. After the press conference they also knew Devon spoke reasonably fluent Spanish. The patient's symptoms and course of treatment were still firmly under wraps. When asked that exact question, Devon said only, "He's an amazing man. A real fighter."

Casey looked ill.

* * *

Devon staggered into the courtyard of the apartment complex, barely able to see the way to his apartment for the blurring of his vision. At least the fountain made its usual noise, now that it had been repaired after that party. So glad they missed that one. He was dragging his keys out of his duffle when something large loomed up at him out of the shadows. "Ah!" Then he saw his shadow clearly. "Jeez, Chuck, you scared me to death."

"And that's why we don't go creeping up on people from dark corners. Okay?"

"Okay. God." Devon pressed two fingers against his wrist. "What do you want?"

Chuck checked to make sure that Ellie hadn't been disturbed by his little prank, or anyone else. Just to be safe he urged Devon closer to the fountain, and its ambient noise. "I have a few questions I need to ask you."

Even this late, Devon was no fool. "It's about the premier?" He didn't wait for Chuck's cautious nod. "You wanna do this here? Doesn't the CIA want to debrief me or something?"

"Depends on who you ask," said Chuck. "This here, what we're doing right now, is me debriefing you. I'm not sure what Sarah would do. Her normal tricks involve drugs and lingerie, which likely wouldn't work since you know who she is already and she wouldn't want to hurt Ellie's feelings, or something unpleasant that I don't even want to contemplate. No, wait."

Devon looked around, dazed by his own imagination. "Wait for what?" Was a lingerie-clad Sarah even now getting ready to pounce and do something unpleasant?

"That's interrogation," said Chuck. "My bad. Fortunately for you she's already put you in the 'civilian' zone and told me to play nice. This would be Sarah debriefing you too."

Devon was feeling less and less awesome about his bro-in-law's secret life. "What about Casey?" Did he even want to know about Casey?

"Well, let's just say that Casey isn't likely to agree with you about the muy amazingness of a communist dictator like Goya anytime soon, comprende?"

He didn't want to know about Casey. "Comprendo."

"Good," said Chuck. "Now, what can you tell me about Goya?"

"Well, nothing," said Devon. "I said everything they told me to say at the press conference. The rest is confidential, dude, you know that."

"Yeah, Devon, I know that. So what can you tell me?"

Devon yawned. "I can tell you that these plants need more potassium in their soil," he said, waving at the potted plants all around, drooping a little. "They're like us, too little isn't good, but for us too much is worse. Too much K, I mean like 'off the charts' too much, can give rise to all sorts of cardiac events."

Chuck tried to look earnestly well-informed. "Is that a fact?"

Devon shrugged. "It better be, it's what they taught us in medical school." He shook himself out. "Sorry, I was rambling. What did you want to ask me about?"

Chuck waved a hand. "Oh, nothin' special. Just wanted to make sure you got home all right."

"You kidding?" asked Devon with a grin. "I could do this stuff in my sleep, but hopefully without all the guns, next time. That's a kind of excitement I don't need. I'll just stick to my runs, my cardio…"

"Gotcha there," said Chuck, who could do without the guns himself.

"…the skydiving, and of course Ellie's enough excitement for any man…"

Chuck slapped his hands over his ears. "Devon!"

Devon snapped back to awareness. "Huh?" He noted Chuck's posture. "What did I say?"

"Nothing I wanted to hear," said Chuck. "But I expect Ellie would. Go home and say it to her." He backed away from Devon's slight smile and went to make his own report, and then bed.

* * *

At times, the single most important item of equipment in Castle was the coffee machine. This was one of those times, but they weren't in Castle, and Casey made his coffee to Marine specifications.

Unfortunately for him, Beckman was in the Air Force.

The meeting did not, as they say, go well. A poisoning implied a poisoner, and the gala the Costa Gravans were throwing to celebrate their leader's continued existence was a perfect opportunity for him to strike again. But try telling them that. "Three times, over thirty years, I was ordered to kill that commie crackpot–"

"And failed, all three times," said Sarah, chugging her coffee just to prove that she could.

"What's your point, Walker?" snarled Casey. "That you're better than me? That I didn't want it bad enough?"

Chuck looked at Sarah. "It happens, big guy. Sometimes what you have to do and what you want to do aren't at all the same thing."

Casey ignored the blatant display of ladyfeelings, if he even noticed it at all. "Oh, I wanted to, Bartowski, and I still want to, but orders are orders. Just as well the _Angel de la Muerte_ has to sit this mission out."

"The who?"

"Angel de la Muerte, the angel of death. That's what they call me down there," said Casey proudly. Bad enough they were tasked to infiltrate a foreign embassy, they didn't need a wanted man showing his face too.

"Zealous much?" asked Chuck. He made a face, speaking with a stilted and bizarre accent. "Oh, the angel of death, we must flee or perish." Then his eyes went wide. "Wait! That gives me an idea."

Suddenly there was shouting in the courtyard, and armed men securing the perimeter. Sarah got there first but Chuck was taller. "Costa Gravan soldiers," she said.

"They must have found out I was in LA," said Casey, heading for his nearest weapons cache. "They've come for me."

"Give it a rest, Casey, that was the 80s. You're not the only one with Costa Gravan connections, you know." He jerked his thumb toward the window and the courtyard beyond, where even now some uniformed man was knocking on Devon's new front door.

The door opened, and Ellie stepped out, wearing her bright blue scrubs. She looked around the yard, fear in her eyes at the sight of all the guns. The man at the door bowed, taking her hand and raising it to his lips, but she pulled it back before it got that far.

Casey dialed up the volume on one of the bugs from the courtyard.

* * *

"Sra. Doctor Woodcombe," said the man in strongly accented English, "Do you know what your husband has done?"

"My husband?" asked Ellie. "He was at the hospital all night. He just got home a few hours ago."

"Your husband is a hero," said the man. "I owe him my life. I am Alejandro Fulgencio Goya, master of Parliament and Chief Military Officer of Costa Gravas, and I am at your most humble service."

* * *

"I'm going in," said Chuck, heading for the rear exit to the apartment, and from there to his own. He took an earwig so he could listen in as he moved.

* * *

"You're that man from the news," said Ellie.

"I am indeed," said Goya, who expected his doings to make headlines, pleased to find that this was so even in America.

Ellie looked him over with a practiced eye. "You look very well, but you probably shouldn't be out of bed."

"So your husband also said," said Goya. "But I am here on a mission that cannot be delegated. Tonight we are hosting a gala at my consulate." An aide flicked out an envelope for his master to take.

Chuck stepped out of his own apartment and said, "Gala?" All eyes and guns turned to him. He raised his hands, and the pitch of his voice. "Hey! Easy there."

"Chuck!" yelled Ellie. "That's my brother," she said to the man who controlled all the guns.

"Your brother?" he said, waving his soldiers to lower their weapons. "Yes, I see the resemblance. Your own feminine beauty, in a more manly form."

"Uh, yeah," said Chuck, unable to tell if he'd just been insulted or not. He came over to stand by his sister.

"You must come too," said Goya, taking the invitation his aide held and thrusting it into Chuck's hands. He immediately gave it to Ellie as if it burned him. Goya didn't see it, as he'd taken and was holding a deep bow.

"He's waiting for you to say yes," said an officer.

Both of the Bartowskis rushed to say yes, even though they had no idea what Devon's plans were, scratch that, _had been_ for the evening.

Ellie restrained herself from squealing joyfully as the squad departed. "I can't believe this is happening!"

"Yeah," said Chuck, glancing at the window of John's apartment. "Neither can I."

* * *

As expected, Devon had nothing better to do that night. His wife wanted to go, therefore he did too. Strings were pulled, and suddenly the couple were free of any hospital obligations for the evening as well.

They entered the ballroom to polite applause, Ellie and Devon dressed to impress, Sarah and Chuck dressed to reflect. The last thing they wanted was for anyone to notice or remember them as they scoped the room. "Guards at the north and west."

"Metal detectors in the doorways," said Casey from the van, using various bits and pieces of equipment on the two agents to scan and update the interior schematics of the building. He secured any and all weapons with metallic components. Just in case.

Sarah left to do a pass by Goya himself, while Chuck moved to support his family. Ellie had stars in her eyes, Devon was much more subdued after Chuck had let him in on what was going on and what he needed to do. "Your mission, should you choose to accept it and you already have, is to keep my sister out of danger."

The biggest danger she was in so far seemed to be from Goya himself, judging from the strained smile. Devon unwittingly echoed his brother-in-law, "I'm going in", but Sarah defused the situation first. The ladies found a table with their backs to the wall and a view of the room, while Chuck used his height to good advantage.

* * *

"So, here we are, alone at last," said Ellie.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Sarah, watching Chuck as he watched Goya.

"Exactly what it sounds like," said Ellie. "You and me. No Devon. No _Chuck_."

"What's wrong with Chuck?" She was watching him now, looking to her, so she signaled that she was blocked and he kept going.

Ellie saw her watching him but nothing else. "Nothing. I just don't want him to get hurt, and I don't want you to feel safe," she said, continuing on as Sarah attempted to respond, "You know and I know that he'll defend you, and I don't want that."

"Defend me from what?"

"Do you still have feelings for my brother?"

* * *

Devon shook another hand, thanked another person he'd never see again. Then he turned back to Chuck and saw him looking at Sarah. After a second Chuck looked away, so Devon leaned in for some private talk. "So, what's up with you and Sarah?"

Chuck's head kept turning. "What do you mean?

"Is it real?"

Chuck smirked, but Devon couldn't see it since he was looking in the other direction. "Of course it's real."

Devon took a sip of his champagne. "Doesn't look it."

* * *

Sarah ran her fingers lightly over the charms on her bracelet. "Why would you think otherwise?"

Ellie pointed at the decoration. "Can I see that?" Sarah held it up and Ellie stroked the charms herself. "The hearts are new. Chuck. Who's Sam?"

Sarah pulled her hand back. "No one you know."

"One of the men you were seeing while Chuck was away?"

* * *

Chuck's head came back around at that same steady pace, like he was measuring the room. "Good."

"I thought you were supposed to be involved? Aren't you supposed to look it?"

"We're supposed to look it for people who don't know we aren't," said Chuck. "We're supposed to not look it for people who don't know we are."

"What?"

"It's our job to fool people like you, Devon. It's a bit harder to fool people like us."

* * *

Sarah touched the heart labeled Chuck with easy familiarity. "Chuck gave me this heart himself, to hold for our present and our future. I gave myself the other heart, to hold for the past. There is no Sam, not anymore."

"And the men?"

"Uh, investors," said Sarah, resolving to kill Jeff and Lester slowly. "Hopefully."

"Thank God," said Ellie. "I knew all that stuff couldn't be true." She pointed at the bracelet. "I don't know why he gave you that charm, Sarah, I don't need to know. But you need to hold it safe and guard it with your life."

Guard _him_. _As_ my life. Sarah looked back, saw Chuck looking at her, and gave him a new and better signal. "Way ahead of you, Ellie." She got up and went back to her man, as Devon came to take her place.

* * *

"Can we do our jobs now, please?" said Casey.

" _Oh, no."_

"What's the matter?"

" _Goya's dancing with Ellie."_

"Good. That means everyone'll be looking at him. I got a hit off the guest list, sending you the image now."

" _Got it,"_ said Chuck. _"We see him. Across the floor."_

" _Don't dance too well, Chuck,"_ said Sarah, breathing harder. _"Remember, Ellie could be watching …Getting close…three…two…now."_ Something made a loud noise over the comm. _"Dammit. He's just a protestor."_

" _I see him Sarah, one of the guards…Jack Artman…"_

" _Yes, sir, we'll come quietly,"_ said Sarah, and the rest of their detainment faded away. Casey entered the name Chuck had given him and got a hit, ex-KGB specialist in poisons. He scanned the photo as he disguised himself to enter the compound. He'd made a bad call, now it was up to him to fix it.

* * *

Devon saw Chuck and Sarah fall, really, Chuck had no business on a dance floor. Then they were all taken away, and now he was Ellie's only protection. He went into high alert mode, checking everyone, like he'd seen Chuck do, so he spotted the assassin the second he came in the room.

He maneuvered himself into a clear path, saw the gun come out. Like the tight end he had once been he raced the short distance to his target and threw himself onto him, taking them both to the ground.

Devon opened his eyes, staring into John Casey's face, the cheesy mustache lost somewhere in the fall. Hard hands grabbed him and lifted him up, an honored guest given the benefit of the doubt while the man in the soldier's uniform was held down by pointed guns. The officer came up and looked at Casey. "El Angel de la Muerte!" At his gesture his men lifted Casey up and dragged him from the room.

When the situation was secure Goya came forward. "So, Doctor Woodcombe, you save my life a second time."

"You stopped an assassin," said Ellie, breathless, eyes, sparkling once again, for him alone. "I can't believe you did that."

Devon spotted Casey's mustache, inside someone's champagne flute. For some reason it just fascinated him. "Neither can I."

* * *

 **A/N2** I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N** Poor Ellie. Again. I also really hate it when they give characters such great lines, and I have to either ignore the scene because of them or overwrite it and erase them. On the other hand I get to fix glaring plot flaws.

* * *

" _He's an amazing man."_

" _It happens, big guy_ _."_

" _Way ahead of you, Ellie._ _"_

" _Neither can I._ _"_

* * *

General Beckman was wearing a dress. Not a dress uniform. A dress. Was everybody at a party tonight? Not that the gala in the consulate had been much of a party either, when they got back to it. Almost as soon as they'd been settled to give their statements something happened that made the entire security force go on alert. The protester was ejected, and they went back to find Devon being publicly lionized.

It didn't take them long to find out why. It took longer to get out of the party without arousing suspicion. They skipped the limo, that was for Devon. The van was where it was supposed to be, and they took that. Casey hadn't put in an earwig, or anything else that would link him to another group, so there was nothing to look for or listen to. They had to leave him on his own until reinforcements arrived.

Or not. Maybe it was the dress, but it didn't seem to Chuck as if the General was taking the matter as seriously as she ought to. "We've got a man down!"

"I appreciate your loyalty," said Beckman, and she did, although it was not a soldier's loyalty, but something stronger. Something that would result in stupid chances taken, risks run, in the absence of special forces staging a frontal assault on the place.

An absence there would be. Officially, relations between the two nations were newly cordial, and about to become more so. Costa Gravas would come in from the cold, nothing could be allowed to interfere with that. There must be no official knowledge of any mission, rescue or otherwise. Unofficial knowledge would have to do.

* * *

Casey heard them coming long before he saw them. He was strapped to a chair in a stone cellar at the base of a flight of stairs that someone was walking slowly down. He wasn't intimidated. He knew that Goya's ponderous pace came from too much fancy living and a knee injury from the bomb that almost got him in '88.

It did get his dog, that was the only part that bothered Casey.

Goya entered the room, a shadow in the dark. And a smell. Casey was mildly jealous, that this commie got the best cigars. "I knew you would come," said Goya.

Shrugging was hard to do with his arms in that position. "I'm supposed to be impressed?"

Goya stepped forward, his belly edging into the light. "When will you learn you do not have the strength to kill me?"

Casey ignored the dig. This wasn't the time to antagonize the guy with the guns. "I'm not here to kill you, I'm here to protect you."

Goya chuckled. "If you protect as well as you assassinate I'm better off with my guards."

"Your guards, one of them anyway, are the ones trying to kill you, idiot."

"I don't know, maybe I'm just a humble dictator, but how stupid do you think I am?" Goya made a gesture at a guard, who promptly stuffed a rag in Casey's mouth. "Trying to make me suspicious of my own guards is a child's ploy. I expect better from you, Angel."

Another guard came down the stairs with a tray. "Your cigar, excellency." Casey recognized him as the assassin, right down to the syringe.

Casey watched the traitor poison the cigar right in front of him, taunting him, as Goya spouted off. "I need sleep. Tomorrow I will conduct the interrogation myself."

The Premier took the cigar, as the guard held a lighter for him. Casey swung his legs up and tried to smash it, but failed. Goya moved in reaction, and the cigar was merely batted from his mouth. Goya picked it up. "Your attack was feeble. I can understand why." He rolled the cigar in his fingers. "Genuine Costa Gravan tobacco. Rolled on the thighs of virgins. You are a man like myself, you appreciate a fine cigar." He signaled to his man, who held the lighter for him again, and he puffed the cigar to life. "For you, Angel. A final smoke." He blew smoke in Casey's face and turned away, walking toward the stairs, but he never got there.

* * *

The apartment door opened, and Devon and Ellie stumbled inside, joined at the lips, but still somehow managing to miss the boxes lying around. "Mm, wonderful," she said, in between kisses. "My hero."

Devon thought of that mustache. "I'm a doctor, El." _Not a spy._

She pulled off his jacket. "My doctor. My–" she tugged him in with his tie "–medical student. I think we have some nice closets here, too. Want to find out?"

Devon's phone rang. "No," groaned Ellie. "We are officially off, the hospital said so."

Devon checked the screen. "It's not the hospital. It's the consulate, the Premier's down again. They want me."

" _I_ want you."

"Hold onto that thought," he said apologetically as he went out the door. "I'll be back soon." Once he was away from his door he got on the phone and ran to his car. "Chuck, something's gone wrong. Okay, more wrong, Goya's down again, he requested me specifically to be his doctor… Absolutely no spy stuff, I'll leave that to you guys. I'm just a doctor. Right, where do I go…?"

* * *

"I can't believe I'm doing this," said Sarah.

"Breaking into sovereign territory a second time, with a civilian for cover?" said Chuck.

"No, wearing this hideous outfit." Sarah adjusted the skirt again, but now it didn't fit in a different way. "And these glasses." Plastic lenses inside huge ugly frames.

Chuck looked into the rearview mirror and said, "We need the outfits, especially you. You're too memorable." Sarah smiled. He added, "That's not always a good thing."

She lost the smile, and he nodded. "We're here. Doctor faces, everybody."

* * *

John Casey was patient. He knew the man would come, to tie up the loose end he represented. Eventually the routine of shift change brought them together. "Hello John Casey, NSA assassin."

Two could play at that game. "I'm a lot of things for the NSA. You're Artman, right? Ex-KGB. Working for some third-rate wannabes now?"

Artman answered calmly. "There's nothing third-rate about the Ring." He pulled his syringe from his pocket.

* * *

The room was more lavish than any infirmary Devon had ever worked in, but the machines made the same beeping noises. Quick, irregular beeping noises. There was more to modern medicine than monitors. "He needs a hospital."

"Where any nurse can be an assassin? I control the room here," said the same officer as before.

"Then you're gonna control him to death," said Devon, with absolute authority in his voice. He pointed at the beeping machines. "That is the sound of acute arrhythmia. We'll need blood tests, lab work. Unless you've got that in house too, we need to get him someplace that does."

"I will make those arrangements," promised the officer.

"You do that," said Devon. "We'll try what we tried before, see if that helps. Nurse, bring me that IV stand." He pointed at the item in question, so Sarah wouldn't have to ask.

* * *

Down in the dungeon…

"They must be third-rate. I've heard of them, and you work for them," snarked Casey. "Who else would bother with a dinky little country like Costa Gravas?"

"Who indeed?" said Artman. "An aging NSA agent, perhaps? If your own orders are beyond your understanding, then surely our overarching plans will be also. I will spare you the labor of trying to understand them, beyond saying that the present situation in Costa Gravas suits us." He lifted his syringe. "So Goya must die."

* * *

"Nurse, get me 10 ccs of Insulin." The code phrase. Goya was stable.

About time. About _Show_ time.

* * *

"You must die as well, of course." Artman made a mocking gesture, flicking a finger against the syringe, as if a safe injection was in anyone's thoughts. "Thanks to you, this toxin can be much more direct than the last."

* * *

Chuck and Sarah ran through the halls of the consulate, taking the quickest route to the cellar room most likely to contain their partner, weapons ready but hopefully not to be used. Gunfire up here would certainly drown them in guards.

* * *

Casey stepped away from the fallen body of his enemy, pulling the syringe from the pocket on his pants leg. He'd put a Bible in that pocket, something his enemies might not confiscate, which they hadn't, but a good place to jam a knife, or in this case a needle. Artman assumed his toxin would weaken Casey, and let down his guard. Too bad.

Casey rubbed his forehead, sore from hitting Artman with it. "I'm pretty good with 'direct' too."

Somebody shot him. A pretty bad shot, too, no wonder he was on consulate duty. Whoever he was, he should have been aiming for the center of Casey's chest, but somehow managed to hit him in the leg. Casey fell against the small table, the only other item of furniture in the room, as the guard fell with a rifle butt to the head.

"Casey!" Chuck handed his machine gun to Sarah and ran to support his comrade.

"Let's get out of this banana republic." They'd done what they'd come to do, caught the poisoner. Then he noticed their uniforms. "Don't tell me…"

* * *

"I can't go," said Devon, working over Goya, who was no longer stable. "He's my patient. If I leave he'll die."

"Can't have that," muttered Casey. Sarah left her guns by the door. If they were captured she didn't want to be armed.

"No, we can't," said Chuck. He handed over the syringe Casey had captured. "Can you do anything with this?"

Devon took the syringe, frowning at the green glop inside it. "What is it?"

"It's the poison, dumbass!" growled Casey. "It was injected into a cigar."

"Does it have an antidote?"

"How the hell should I know? The guard shot me before I could wake the bad guy up nice and ask."

"Yes, and he will receive a commendation for that act," said Goya's bodyguard, coming into the room with a lot of men behind him. Sarah raised her hands, while Chuck raised his free hand.

"Why? His aim sucks," said Casey, dropping to the floor.

Chuck raised his other hand. "We're here to save your boss." He pointed at Casey. "He took that bullet in his leg trying to save Goya, not kill him. He needs a doctor."

"He has a doctor," said the guard commander. "You."

"Me?" asked Chuck.

"He's an intern," said Devon.

"Today," said the guard commander, unstrapping his holster, "He is a surgeon." With gun in hand, he directed his men to put Casey on a couch. He did not put the gun back in the holster afterward.

Hesitantly, Chuck directed Sarah to do the things he'd seen them do in a lot of those medical dramas his sister loved to watch, while heckling their shoddy procedures. He knew more than most, but eventually he was faced with a bloody hole in bloody flesh.

"You can do it, Chuck," said Devon. "You're a man, but you're not _just_ a man. You're a doctor."

"I'm a doctor," said Chuck. He flashed.

One quick and dirty emergency surgery later…

"Good job, Chuck," said Devon, trying to keep the amazement out of his voice. _What the hell did they teach in spy school?_ "I knew you could–" Goya's heart monitor started beeping.

"What is that?" said the commander.

"This poison, it's like a witch's brew, a combination of toxins," said Devon. "I can't stop them all."

"You cannot stop your own poison?"

"It's not ours," said Chuck. "We took it from the guy we left in Casey's cell."

"There was no one in the cell."

"Oh, spiffing," snapped Chuck, and the commander looked confused.

"Chuck, forget the guy," said Devon. "We need to stop the poison."

"How can we do that?" asked Chuck. He left the wound and a Costa Gravan corpsman stepped in to close it, Sarah continuing her charade as the nurse.

Devon looked at all the equipment they had, the supplies they'd brought. He'd used a lot of it and didn't want to guess on the rest. "We can do a transfusion," he said. "Casey said the poison was in the cigar, he can't have inhaled much that way."

The guard commander started looking at the floor. The cigar had long since gone out, but one of his men found it and gave it to him. In the side he found a small hole. He went over to the cigar box.

"Just this little bit of poison would probably kill a whole platoon," said Chuck.

"Army, maybe," muttered Casey.

The watch commander started looking at the cigars in the box. Every one had a small hole on the underside.

"We need to know his blood type," said Devon.

"O negative," said the corpsman and Casey simultaneously. Everybody looked at Casey funny.

"I got more," he said, slightly woozy. "If there was ever a Goya Jeopardy, I'd win."

"I think he's in more than enough jeopardy, Casey," said Chuck. He looked at the corpsman. "You, consulate-guy, where's your supply of O negative blood?"

"It was taken to the hospital yesterday," said the guard commander. "It has not yet returned. We will send for it."

"No time," said Devon. "We need some right now."

"Tag check," ordered the commander.

Every soldier in the room pulled his tags and checked. Devon, of course, knew his, and so did Chuck. Sarah even knew hers.

"Casey, how about you?" Silence. Chuck wasn't buying it. "Colonel?"

Casey ground his teeth so hard he almost bit through the piece of leather in his mouth. "Nuts!"

* * *

 **A/N2** Lots of shows got that blood type thing wrong. O negative is a universal donor, but a terrible receiver. AB positive is a terrible donor, but a universal recipient. Goya in canon could have received blood from almost anybody. The only show I know of that got it right was iZombie. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N** So in this one Chuck didn't have to drug Casey, but between the bullet wound and the transfusion he's still in pretty bad shape. Casey's pleasure at being funny is a tip of the hat to Zettel, for whom even Casey's interior monologs consisted of grunts.

* * *

" _We've got a man down!"_

" _Doctor faces, everybody_ _."_

" _If I leave he'll die._ _"_

" _He's in more than enough jeopardy._ _"_

* * *

Casey felt real good, as the room slowly blurred into view. That's how he knew he hadn't been tranqed, he never felt good about that. 'Good' being a relative term, of course. Having Chuck Bartowski's mug in your face only counted as good if you were a relative.

Heh. _I can_ so _be funny._

Sarah's face was there, too, always there with Chuck. Next to him. What was it with those two? The ridiculous courtship dance that everyone but them knew they were doing had changed, and he hadn't figured out how just yet.

* * *

Chuck waved as Casey's eyes fluttered open. "Hey, Casey." He snapped his fingers in Casey's face.

"Hey, Chuckie," said the big guy in response, his voice woozy and shrill. He smiled at them. He wanted to break those fingers. There was a bit of a disconnect.

"That's not normal," said Sarah.

The smile went away, as more of John Casey came back online. "I feel like Death," he growled, looking ready to puke.

"That's normal," said Chuck.

Grunt. His leg hurt, his hand hurt. Looking down, he saw bandages on both. "What happened?"

"You did," said Sarah. She and Chuck stood up, which was good, since it got Chuck out of his face.

His brains were still a little bit behind. "I did what?" He saw a table, chairs. Just like the ones they had in–Oh, no. He looked up.

General Beckman looked down at him, them, with as genial an expression as he'd, they'd, ever seen on her face. "Good work, Colonel Casey. Oh, you do look like roadkill, don't you? Anyway. The premier made a full recovery, owing largely to you."

"Don't mention it," said Casey. His good red American blood, put inside some stinking commie despot. "Please."

"This was an off-the-books mission, she said so herself," said Chuck. No one would go talking about this to anyone.

"Exactly," said Beckman, in that same genial tone. "Your mission, your methods. And your firing squads, had you failed." She took a nice, deep breath. "Which you didn't do. Although I do not endorse your methods, particularly the inclusion of a civilian doctor, you enabled Premier Goya to make his announcement. Costa Gravas will have its first democratic election, and it wouldn't have happened without your extraordinary sacrifices, some more extraordinary than others."

"I'll tell Devon you said thanks. It was his idea, after all."

"You'd better not," said Beckman, suddenly less genial. "The premier wanted to thank you personally, Colonel Casey, but you passed out from blood loss before he could do so."

"So this will have to do," finished Sarah, coming around with a large wooden box that she handed off to Casey.

Attached to the box was an envelope, unsealed, because what good would that do? Casey opened it and pulled out a sheet of Premier Goya's personal stationery. A note, written by hand, with surprisingly good penmanship. _My good friend Colonel John Casey, the people of Costa Gravas and I are in your debt. Truly you are a man of honor, and more. With my life literally in your hands and my death in your heart, you still gave freely of yourself that I might live. I will never forget that the blood of an American patriot flows through my veins. Truly you are the Angel of Life._

Casey's lip curled at all the florid romanticism. Duty, that's all it was. He had orders to make sure the Premier lived, so the Premier lived. You'd think a soldier would understand that.

Then he saw the box. At the top it said La Republica de Costa Gravas, the old name of the country before it fell to Goya and his goons, and they changed the name to the People's Republic. This was an antique, the old president's personal cigar box, probably a trophy in Goya's own office.

He lifted the lid, inhaled the scent of fine tobacco. They didn't make these beauties for export. "Pre-revolutionary Costa Gravan Double Coronas," he said in awe, and pleasure. The gold standard of cigars. Maybe that stinking commie despot– _former_ stinking commie despot–wasn't so bad after all.

"I must say, Colonel, that his note was remarkably…complimentary," said Beckman, who'd received a copy of the note long ago. "Despite your history, you seem to have won him over."

"Because of it, I'd say, General," said Casey, around an unlit cigar. He took it out of his mouth, regretfully. "You learn a lot about a guy when you're trying to kill him. I probably know more about him than his wife does."

"That's disturbing," muttered Chuck.

Beckman either didn't hear his remark or was actively ignoring it. "And you built your play on that. Excellent."

Costa Gravan Double Coronas make excellent pointers. "Actually, General, it was Chuck's idea."

Beckman looked at Chuck curiously. "Agent Bartowski?"

"Yes, General," said Chuck, stepping forward. "At first, I thought the name 'Angel of Death' was a bit silly–" the two officers in the room glared at him "–right, moving on, anyway, having met the man I came to see that it was really a gesture of respect in a very romantic, Costa Gravan sort of way. So I had Casey put together a note, which Devon passed to the Premier." He put the note itself on the screen, in a little window.

 _Excellency. You know me as El Angel de la Muerte, but my name is Col. John Casey, USMC. I've been tasked with your death, and so far I've come close, but no cigar. My only failure. Until and unless my orders are rescinded, no one can be allowed to kill you but me, my professional pride demands it._

 _As Doctor Woodcombe here can tell you, your little heart problem yesterday wasn't natural. One of your men is a traitor and a poisoner, and poison is no way for a soldier to die. Doctor Woodcombe knows my plan. If you wish my help let him know, and he will take appropriate steps. If not, I'll see you in Hell._

"Hey, Casey," said Chuck, "I just realized. 'Close but no cigar', and here Goya gave you a whole box of–right, anyway, General, the plan worked very well, except that Artman put his toxin in all the cigars, not just the one he took downstairs."

"A damn shame," muttered Casey. All that fine tobacco, wasted.

"Yeah," said Chuck. "Even with Goya switching out that cigar for a fresh one, he still got the poison."

"And believe me, I'd be very upset with you," said Beckman, "If I officially knew anything about this mission at all. Best-laid plans and all that, and this was far from the best laid. On the other hand, you have managed to accidentally sniff out another Ring cell and survived the experience, a little worse for the wear. We have all systems looking for Artman now. Good work, team."

* * *

Devon sat upstairs in the Orange Orange, pondering imponderables in the way that only very tired people do. An Orange Orange above a spy base. Double oranges for people who lead double lives. He had to admit, it was pretty cool, on the surface. Black tie dinners, embassy extractions. Killer stuff. The _real_ killer stuff, not so much.

"Hey, Devon," said Chuck, coming out of the freezer.

"Hey, Chuck," said Devon, getting up. "Things go all right in, uh…" he gestured at the freezer "…headquarters?"

"Well enough," said Chuck, with a sigh. "Old mission completed, no new missions on the horizon, if that's what you're wondering."

"Nope," said Devon, shaking his head. "Not interested in missions, my espionage itch has been scratched. I've got a real life, bro. Wife, home, job. If this life starts taking away from that one, then this life's got to go. Just not how I want to live." He checked his watch. "I gotta go, gotta return that gear to the hospital before I go home, scratch some of _those_ itches…"

"I didn't hear that," said Chuck, as Sarah also emerged from the freezer.

"Yeah, I know, la la la," said Devon with a grin. "You two take care of each other."

"That's what we do," said Sarah, as he left, and Chuck locked the door behind him. "He would have made an awesome spy."

"He doesn't think so," said Chuck, which pretty much settled the matter. "Now Ellie, on the other hand…"

"Definite interrogator potential," said Sarah, remembering those few moments under Ellie's sharp gaze and sharper words unhappily.

Chuck recognized those tones of dread. "You too?"

"Jeff and Lester were spreading rumors." She slashed the air with her hand. "I panicked." She stared at her hand, breathing heavily. "I never panic."

"My sister believed something _they_ said?" Whoever said 'consider the idea. not the source' never met those two.

"Me and my marks, while you were in Prague."

"Ah." Her parading around in a white bikini, with at least one other man, supposedly behind his back. Definitely actionable intel.

"Ellie was curious."

Chuck understood her panic. When Ellie got 'curious' about things like that, her claws came out. "I'll bet she was. I saw you two going over the charm bracelet."

Sarah held out her hand, although he didn't ask her to. He looked at the charms. "I should explain about Sam," she said.

He heard the hesitation in her voice. "No need, not to me," he said, putting his hand over the charms. "That sort of thing is need-to-know." He released her wrist entirely. "Besides, it's not like I didn't have to deal with a question-and-answer session of my own."

"Devon?" asked Sarah, lowering her arm. He knew about them. What sort of questions could he have?

Chuck nodded. "We don't look 'together' enough to suit him."

"Oh." Sarah thought about all the different faces of their relationship, and who they faced. "That's a good thing, right?"

"It would be, if he was, say, General Beckman," agreed Chuck with a shrug. "But he's not. He needed…clarification."

"So you–" air quotes "–clarified us for him?"

"I did." He reached up to touch her air-quoting fingers. "Hope you don't mind."

She drew her fingertips down the length of his fingers, across his palm, and down. "Why would I mind?"

* * *

" _Hey, honey,"_ said Ellie, _"Where are you?"_

"At the hospital now," said Devon. "Been at the consulate all night, really touch and go with the Premier, but he's tough. Not stupid, though, Climbed out of bed, made his announcement, and started packing up to go home right after. I didn't stick around for that."

" _That's great,"_ said Ellie. _"Hurry home, I have a surprise for you."_

"I believe I owe you a dance," said Devon, before remembering all the boxes in the living room. Anyway, he owed her more than a dance, and there were no boxes in the bedroom. "Let me just drop this off and I am all yours. I love you, babe."

" _I love you too, honey."_

Devon walked through the corridors of his hospital, happy to be back where he belonged, and swung into the dispensary at top speed. "Anybody home?"

"I'm right here," said someone in the back, with a soft British accent. He stepped out of the racks into the light, and Devon saw his bruised eye.

"Ouch," said Devon, a doctor to his core. "That looks like it hurts."

The man pulled a syringe from his pocket, loaded with something green. "You have no idea."

* * *

Chuck opened the door, expecting to see and seeing Sarah waiting there on the other side. "Hi, Sarah," he said with some surprise. Their covers didn't need much maintaining at the moment, and their real life was being filtered mostly through work. "You motivated to gorge yourself on processed food and play video games, or is there–?"

"It's Devon," said Sarah quietly. She stepped closer. "Something's happened."

"What?" asked Chuck.

"We don't know."

"And they called you? Why didn't they call _me_?"

Sarah put her hand on his chest, felt the pounding of his heart. "This is why." Fear and anger, to the Dark Side they led, and she'd given her word to several people that she wouldn't allow the Intersect to go to any dark sides.

Chuck put his hand over hers. "God."

"Hey guys," said Ellie, and Sarah turned, drawing Chuck's hand with her. Ellie smiled at the partial embrace. "Have you seen my husband?"

* * *

 **A/N2** I suppose they wanted us to think that Devon might have been killed, rather than kidnapped, but I never thought that. Probably a result of watching these first several episodes of S3 on Hulu. I tried to maintain that ambiguity, while still addressing the many pacing and setting errors that plagued these episodes. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	15. Roleplayer

**A/N** Did anyone notice how Casey's leg miraculously healed between one episode and the next?

* * *

" _I feel like Death."_

" _A damn shame_ _."_

" _Ellie was curious._ _"_

" _This is why._ _"_

* * *

Chuck stared at the monitor. "Look at him." Technically it was 'them', but the expression of terror on his brother-in-law's face wasn't the cause of Chuck's anger. The man walking with Devon, on the other hand, was a smirker. A smirker with a black eye, Devon's arm in one hand and a syringe in the other, ready to inject somebody. "Did he just wink at us?"

"Hard to say, with that shiner he's sporting," said Casey, leaning against the table. As the author of that shiner he felt a certain proprietary pride in it, although clearly the guy deserved a lot more. He just hoped he'd be able to get in on some of that action, if and when they found the guy. He wasn't about let a little thing like a bullet wound keep him out of that.

"It's the needle he's sporting that bothers me," said Chuck, shifting from camera to camera as his targets went out into the parking lot.

That setup line just spoke to John Casey's excuse for a soul. "So what else is new?" Really, Chuck should have known better.

"He'll be all right, Chuck," said Sarah. "Obviously they want him for something. The needle is just to force compliance."

"It's when they run out of hostages that I'm worried about," said Casey, putting weight on his leg again. "The heroic idiot may try to resist."

"He won't," said Chuck. _He'd better not, not with Ellie waiting for him._ "He's no idiot, and he's no hero." His phone rang, and he picked up with no loss to his typing speed. "Hey, sis. You're at the hospital? Great…His car is there? Not great…Not responding to any pages either? You're going to where? Security?" His fingers buzzed, and suddenly the images they were looking at turned to static. "Well, I hope you're right. Let me know if you find him. Right, I will too. Bye."

"Good move, Bartowski," said Casey, shuffling around slowly. "The last thing we need is another incident with the damn Costa Gravans." Ellie might have recognized the uniform Artman was still wearing.

"Chuck?" said Sarah, putting a hand on his shoulder. A case like this, Devon of all people, had to be stressing him in both directions at once. Hard to say where the proper balance was, but she had to find it.

"That's true, Casey, but it's not why I did it," said Chuck. "If anything about our business takes him away from her, I don't want her last sight of him to be that one." Sarah's hand relaxed, and he reached up and put a hand over it before she could pull away. "Thank you, too, Sarah, but I think for this one maybe I need to be a little more C than B. Comprende?"

Sarah nodded, and let him go. "Got your back, partner," she said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Casey peevishly. The pain in his leg was annoying, but not as much as feeling like a little fat kid. Not that he felt sorry for _them_ , the little blobs, but he'd made too many sacrifices to be denied a chance to contribute. Marines went in _first_.

"It means we all need to be at the top of our game, Colonel," said Agent Carmichael. "How's your leg?"

* * *

Jack Artman hated hospital syringes. In his line of work the people were disposable, but a good implement was a treasure, and he'd lost his treasure to that NSA troglodyte. With its greater heft and the loops for his fingers he could control it much more easily. To keep this plastic thing in position against his victim's leg he had to use his fingers in a totally different way, and they were beginning to get sore.

Devon looked down yet again at the needle by his leg. Every time the car shifted and he lurched that way he got stuck by it, and having seen what even a little of that goo did to Goya he wanted none of it in him. Assuming it was the same goo, and he couldn't assume anything else. The guy had threatened to stick anyone he saw, if Devon bolted, and now he had no place to bolt to.

Oh, no, the guy was slowing to make a turn, and Devon pulled his leg away when he saw the ramp. The car bounced up and into some anonymous parking garage. The guy took the ticket and contemptuously tossed it in the back. He drove up a couple of ramps, before pulling into a dark space, near a big van.

The guy got out of the car as several men got out of the van, and Devon didn't know who was scarier. The poisoner pulled open the door and dragged him out into several waiting arms. "You'll be sorry you interfered in the affairs of the Ring, doctor," he sneered, as the other bad guys cuffed Devon. One of them pulled a bag over his head.

"You're such an idiot, Artman," said a mocking voice. "You have no idea who you've got, or what you've done. We don't tolerate interference but we tolerate incompetence less." One noise, low but sharp, and a second noise, like a bag of clothes falling to the ground, and Devon was suddenly very glad he had a bag over his head. "Dump him," said the unseen man, but from the sound of it they didn't dump him very far away, probably in his car. Then hands were pulling Devon backward into the van. When they finally did stick a needle into him he didn't feel it at all.

* * *

"Cut it out, Chuck," said Casey, examining the possible hits from Facial Rec for false positives. "You're blowing your cover."

"Uh, Casey, I hate to tell you but we're in Castle," said Chuck reasonably. "We don't have any covers down here."

"Yeah, but you're not supposed to be down here," said Casey. "You're supposed to be up there, freaking out like your sister is and driving everybody crazy. Instead, you're down here, _not_ freaking out, and driving _me_ crazy."

"Well excuse me for trying to be effective."

"You're not supposed to be effective, Chuck," said Sarah. "We are. You're supposed to be upset, and up there." She pointed to the Buy More exit.

Chuck started to walk over to the stairs, and then looked back at Sarah. "What a minute, was that wordplay?"

"Just get out already," said Casey. He looked at the monitor. "Looks like Grimes'll be needing your shoulder to cry on any minute now. Big Mike hauled him into his office in record time."

* * *

Morgan's head was almost spinning as he left Big Mike's office, holding the assistant manager vest. For days Mike had been haranguing them about the power of positivity, the need to say 'yes' even when you meant no. He'd done it, too, saying 'yes' all over the place, but it was the one time he'd said 'no' that made all the difference.

So many times in his life, he'd said 'yes' simply because people expected him to say yes, and he'd suffered for it. But the strength of those expectations was an illusion, ready to fold at the slightest 'no' from him. Except for his Mom, that had been a mistake, but he'd learned from it. The power of 'no' was awesome, but he had to use it sparingly, or else it would be like a chocolate chip cookie with too many chocolate chips in it, which really wasn't a cookie at all but more like a brownie with cake…and now he was hungry again.

Wait. Nobody knew the store was under new assistant-managership. He could sneak in one last snack run before taking the reins. He folded the Ass Man vest into a wad and hurried to the lockers, where it would wait until he returned to don the mantle of leader–"Chuck?" he said, opening the door. He put the hand holding the vest behind his back. "What are you doing here?" He hadn't seen him enter. His Chuck-radar hadn't gone off. It was like he just suddenly appeared in the break room. _What the Hell?_

* * *

"Hey, Morgan," said Chuck, trying to look freaked out, but not having to work too hard at it. The room had been empty when he opened the new locker entrance to Castle, but leave it to Morgan to take a spontaneous break. One problem too many for today. "Problems at home, Devon's been gone a while, not answering his phone…"

"So why aren't you at home?" Morgan tried to edge around Chuck while keeping the vest under cover.

 _Yeah, genius._ He really should have thought about his cover story more. Then he saw the label on the locker in front of him and had an idea. "Because Ellie's at the hospital already, and I figured if I wanted to find somebody, the people to go to weren't the police, but Lester and Jeff."

Morgan had his doubts, but not about their abilities. "You want those two to _help_?"

"You think I shouldn't?"

"Yes," said Morgan, meaning no. The power of positivity, and he was positive he wanted Chuck out of the room for a minimum of about fifteen seconds. "Absolutely you should. You know how much those two love to be involved. In everything. They'd be really upset if you didn't."

"You're right," said Chuck, and he finally left Morgan alone.

Twenty-two seconds later, Morgan was heading out the door. Nobody at the Nerd Herd desk paid him any mind. "This brother-in-law, is he female?" asked Lester.

"Ew," said Jeff.

"No," said Chuck.

"You waste our time, Bartowski," sneered Lester imperiously, and he sauntered away into Action DVDs, pulling Jeff along in his wake, as always.

Chuck watched them go, satisfied that the 'freaking out' part of his mission was accomplished. No one _in_ their right mind would ever ask those two to help. Which made him wonder about Morgan, standing there with one hand behind his back and urging him to do it. Maybe he should turn his mind to _that_ mystery for a while.

* * *

"They found Artman," said Sarah, who'd been listening to chatter on the police bands. She gave Casey the address, and he pulled up whatever traffic cam images he could find from that area. Which were quite a few, he wasn't Chuck but he was no slouch. The images that contained Artman's face, or especially Devon's, he erased. No police would be going to Ellie's door asking about her husband and dead bodies.

"I'll go tell Chuck," said Sarah, and left him to it.

* * *

Chuck was in the DVD aisle, rearranging the DVDs into correct alphabetical order. The job, though tedious, was relaxing to his mind, allowing him to focus on important matters, like Morgan's strange behavior. Stranger behavior. Missing game nights, which was most nights. Movie night. He looked at the video in his hands. Morgan loved Chuck Norris. It's like he'd…gotten a life.

His phone rang. Ellie. Her twentieth call in the last hour. "Hey, El–"

"What's that in your hands, Charles?" said Lester, popping up out of nowhere. He was good at that, just ask any of the ladies who never came back to the store. He reached out plucked the movie from Chuck's grasp. "Delta Force? Really, Chuck, just because we turned you down is no reason to go running to second-rate hacks like these." He waggled the box in Chuck's face and tossed it back at him.

"What? No, Ellie," said Chuck as he caught the disk in mid-air. "Just Lester being more Lester than usual."

"Hey! You guy," said a woman in a harshly accented voice.

"Hold on, El." Chuck turned to hand her off to an employee who wasn't clearly _on the phone_ , but they'd all fled at the approach of a customer with a question.

"This say you have big sale on hdtv," said the woman, holding up a copy of the Buy More circular.

Chuck looked around the store for anyone to save him. He saw Sarah walk through the doorway and immediately forgot the woman. He walked away, but she wasn't about to let him go.

"Hey!" she shouted, following him into the next aisle. "Young man! You listening?" In Thai, she continued, "This is why I shop at Large Mart!"

Chuck flashed. In Thai, he yelled back, "You like to shop in Large Mart? Then go shop in Large Mart!" As the woman ran away, Chuck remembered he still had his phone up to his ear. "Ellie!" he continued in English, "No, no, just an irate customer, berating me in a language I don't know a single word of. What do you mean, he sounded like me? I don't even sound like me!"

"Charles, Charles," said Lester condescendingly, oozing out of a cross-aisle. "You really must stop hiding behind your mother's skirts, or in this case, your sister's."

"Nicer skirts," said Jeff. "Shorter."

"So let's just drop this ridiculous pretence of a phone call, and address the real issue," said Lester with a firm, bold posture. "Chuck Norris vs Steven Seagal. Do you really think your boy has a chance against the aikido-Master?" Lester adopted a pose that maybe some martial artist somewhere might have adopted at some point, if he was drunk, or falling off a cliff.

"I'm sorry, El," said Chuck, turning away from the pathetic display.

"Show me what you got," said Lester.

"No, I still haven't heard from–"

"Hit me!" said Lester, jabbing the air. "Hit me now." He touched Chuck in the back.

Chuck flashed again, and hit Lester. Kicked him, in fact, but Lester was unlikely to appreciate the distinction from down on the floor.

Jeff dropped to Lester's side, and Sarah stepped into his place, blocking first one strike, then another, sending his phone flying.

"Help me, Sarah."

Sarah helped him, stepping inside his perimeter and pressing her body, her lips, tight against his. Chuck shuddered in the throes of conflicting impulses.

"Oh you two," said Morgan from behind them. "If you're gonna do that sort of thing here, do it in the HT room with the blinds drawn, like I do." He looked down. "What happened to Lester?"

Jeff pointed. "Chuck did."

Morgan shook his head. "Jeffery, Jeffery. You should have said _she_ did it," he said, pointing to Sarah. "I'd believe that one first."

Jeff was a veteran of dozens of chop-socky flicks. "She's good."

Sarah released Chuck now that it was safe. "I've been practicing," she hissed, right in Jeff's face. "In case I meet any stalkers. With their telescopes."

"My telescope's broken," said Jeff, wide-eyed. He leaned a hand somewhere on Lester's body. "His too."

"They'd better be."

Jeff nodded frantically. "I'm throwing them away. I'll find a new dumpster."

"Good," said Sarah, and she yielded the space to Morgan, as he and Jeff dragged Lester off to someplace else, she didn't care where. She turned to Chuck, only to find him some feet away, looking for his phone.

"Ellie," he shouted, "If you can hear me yell real loud!"

"Call her back later, Chuck," said Sarah, pulling him close. "They found Artman dead. Casey's trying to figure out who has Devon now, and how they got him out of there."

"This just keeps getting better and better," said Chuck. "I should never have gotten him involved. He wants no part of this life."

"And whoever has him has to know that, Chuck."

"I don't know, Sarah, he does look the part, you said so yourself, and you were right."

"Oh, I don't know," said a booming baritone behind him, and Chuck turned. Devon stood behind him, rubbing his cheeks. "James Bond never got all stubbly, did he?"

* * *

 **A/N2** I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N** The moment you've all been waiting for, played a little bit differently. As usual, when there are parts of canon that don't need to be changed, I look somewhere else.

* * *

" _Look at him."_

" _Was that wordplay?_ _"_

" _I don't even sound like me!"_

" _James Bond never got all stubbly._ _"_

* * *

Devon hung back from actually stepping into the Buy More break room. "Dude, I don't want to go to spy-land."

"I know, Devon, but it looks like spy-land has come to you," said Chuck. "We just need to debrief you on what you saw, who you saw, and then we'll take you right out of spy-land just as fast as our rocket-powered Aston Martins can get you there."

Devon watched as Sarah opened one of the lockers. "You have–"

"No, Devon, it's a metaphor," said Chuck, shaking his head. "Probably it'll be my Nerd Herder. The debrief is not a metaphor, though. That part's real." He held out his hand, and Sarah put a paddle into it. Chuck waved the paddle around Devon, stopping at his pants pocket. "What's this?"

"Oh, he scary lady gave me this," said Devon, pulling a box out of his pocket. Inside was a small circular device, about the size of his palm.

"That's a Ring communicator," said Chuck. Sarah got out a box for it, but Chuck shook his head. "If she's tracking it, that will just give our location away."

Just then Morgan walked into the break room, heading for his locker, but he drew up short at the sight of the three of them already there. "Hey, Chuck, what's going on?"

"Morgan," said Chuck. "Just the nerd I want to see. I need you to do me a favor, buddy."

"Sure," said Morgan, confused but always willing.

Chuck handed him the phone and the box. "Take these, take my Nerd Herder, and go somewhere far away. The Pier, maybe, you know what, I don't care. Lots of places, different places, public places. Somewhere along the line, don't tell me where, put this into that and make sure it's shut."

"What is this, a phone?"

"It's a super-GPS tracker, buddy, mocked up to look like a phone," said Chuck. "We're testing the box, to see if it can block the signal."

"You got it, Chuck," said Morgan with a smile. "Anything to keep _them_ from knowing about _us_." He took the items, and Chuck's keys, and left.

Chuck pulled the tab on the locker, and the wall slid out, revealing the passage into Castle.

"After you."

"If you say so," said Devon, and he went through the doorway and into a tunnel, emerging at the head of a flight of stairs.

Casey waited for him at the bottom. "Hey Devon. Good to see you're not dead."

"Yeah," said Devon with a little laugh. "You too. How's the leg?"

"It hurts." Casey pressed a button and a computer monitor popped up from the table. "Come on down and let's get this whole thing over with."

Devon looked at Chuck, who nodded reassuringly. "Yeah, okay." He descended to the main level and took a seat, Chuck and Sarah next to him. "What do you want to know?"

"We traced Artman's vehicle to the parking garage," said Casey, putting up a picture of Artman himself, stuffed in the back seat, with the ticket fallen on his head. "Take it from there."

Devon stared at the picture. "Uh, handcuffs, a bog on my head…"

"SOP," said Chuck, trying to distract him. He made a slicing motion with his hand and Casey dropped the picture.

"I heard the shot," said Devon, no longer hypnotized. "The next thing I know, I'm sitting in a chair all tied up, kinda cold. Then a woman pulled the bag off…"

"Describe her," said Casey. An array of images popped up on the monitor, all women.

"Uh, dark hair?"

The images of women with light hair disappeared.

"Sort of a…squared-off chin? Not pointy or round."

More women vanished.

"She said her name was Sydney."

One woman remained. "You could have started with that," said Casey.

"I was working up to it." Devon stared at the picture of the scary woman. "We were on a roof, really high up. She knew my name. She thinks I'm a spy." He looked at Chuck. "She thinks I'm you."

"It's a common mistake," said Casey. "Even spies make it. The best spies don't really look like spies. They look more like half-wits and screw-ups. Totally average, barely competent…"

"Yes, thank you, Casey," said Chuck. He turned to Devon. "The good thing is that she sees you, not me, or any of us. We should be able to use that. Can you guys kick some ideas around while I–?"

The monitor trilled. Beckman was on her way. They all looked forward and sat up straight, and Devon took his cues from them. "Good morning, e–what is a civilian doing in Castle?" said the General severely.

"Uh, General, this civilian is the doctor involved in the Goya mission," said Chuck. "My brother-in-law, Devon Woodcombe." Devon nodded.

Beckman didn't. "That's all well and good, Agent Bartowski, but what's he doing there, and what does Sydney Prince have to do with it? Her file is red-flagged, and you just accessed it."

The three spies traded glances. "Jack Artman went after Devon last night, General," said Chuck, and Casey put up the visual again. "According to Devon, she intercepted them, for reasons unknown."

"Perhaps a power play?" suggested Sarah.

"Possibly, Agent Walker. Sydney Prince is a known recruiter for the Ring," said Beckman, who had the highlights of the file in front of her. "Dr. Woodcombe's abduction by Artman may have led her to conclude that Devon's a spy, and she's taking the credit."

"Assuming she can turn Devon," said Chuck.

"She may not be able to bribe him or trick him," said Casey, "But she'll have other means at her disposal."

"She knew everything about me," said Devon. "Ellie, too."

Beckman nodded. "That's her leverage, and she won't hesitate to use it."

"Then she gave me that Ring thingie, and told me she'd call with instructions."

"It was a Ring communicator, General," said Chuck, before she had to ask him what 'Ring thingie' meant. "Morgan's giving it a ride around town right now. At some point he'll put it in a block box and bring it back to us."

"Excellent," said Beckman. "Those operate on a closed network, but the NSA has new technology to crack it. This looks like a good opportunity to put it to use."

Chuck sighed, and looked at his brother-in-law. "What that means, Devon, is that they want you to keep this up with Sydney, so they can use their wonderful new tech and track her down."

Devon looked unhappy about that. "Do I have to?"

"No, of course not," said Casey. "You can just go home, I'm sure Miss Prince will leave you and Ellie completely alone from here on out."

"I can…?"

"No, Devon, that's sarcasm." Chuck gave Casey a dirty look. "As long as she knows about you, and as long as she thinks you're a spy, both of you are in danger."

"Can't we tell her I'm not a spy?"

Sarah shook her head. "Telling people they're not spies is the first thing spies do. She'll see everything you do through that lens."

"Don't worry, Devon," said Chuck, "Well, worry, but know that we'll all be behind you on this, especially me. I will get you through this. First thing we do is get you back to Ellie."

"Oh, man, what do I tell her?"

"Devon, you've got four spies–" the monitor winked out. "Okay, three spies in the same room with you." Casey got up and headed for the armory. "And if we, Sarah and I, that is, can't come up with a good cover story for you, then we don't belong to be here."

* * *

Later, near the casa de Woodcombe…

"I don't know if I can do this, man."

"It's easy, Devon, just say what we told you to say, nothing more, nothing less. Keep it simple."

"Keep it simple. Keep it simple."

His front door opened, and there was Ellie, wonderful Ellie, and here she is in his arms again, and he was in hers. Paradise. "Devon, where were you?" she asked.

Oh, hell. Devon looked over Ellie's shoulder at Chuck, and Chuck gave him a thumbs-up. Devon let go and looked his wife in the face. "I can't lie to you, El. I was kidnapped. Threatened. Blackmailed. They think I'm a spy."

* * *

That night, in a van outside the apartment complex, where team B waits for their star…

"Of course she's not happy with it, would you be?" said Chuck. "I'm sure she'd rather he was having an affair, but she wouldn't have believed that for a second." Not Devon.

"He broke into a sweat just thinking about telling a lie," said Sarah. "And we wanted him to."

"Started out okay, a run in a park, no cell phones, but then he started rambling incoherently about bears," said Chuck.

"That's ugly," said Casey. "Ellie's tough. She can handle the truth, unlike some people I know."

"I just hope I can handle being his handler," said Chuck.

"That's easy, Bartowski," said Casey, and Chuck braced himself. "Just pretend you're a girl. You already scream like one."

"You saying I scream like that, Casey?" asked Sarah.

"The point is," said Casey, "He's you, so you have to be her." He noticed a flashing light on the board. "Movement." He checked the monitor. "Here he comes. Masks."

By the time Devon reached the van door they were unrecognizable, which was good, since Ellie was right behind him. The door slid open, and he held out a package to the men in the van. "I found this on my doorstep."

"Why are they all masked?" said Ellie.

"So you don't know anything about them," said Devon, who been coached about this. "What you don't know you can't accidentally reveal, in case you should bump into one of them at the store someday."

Ellie looked a bit unhappy that these people could be walking around the store and she wouldn't know it. "Oh. Take care of my husband for me."

Chuck gave her a thumbs-up, and Devon climbed inside. The van door closed, and Ellie went back inside to worry, wishing Chuck's windows weren't dark.

"All right, what have we got?" said Casey, one eye on the monitor until Ellie was out of range.

"A watch and a…bluetooth?"

"Probably rigged to blow your head off," said Casey, tactlessly. "Only reason to use something bigger than one our earpieces."

Chuck stuck the device in a containment unit and got out a magnifier. "You gonna MvGuyver it?" asked Devon, "Like that microwave."

"I didn't McGuyver the microwave, Devon," said Chuck absently. "I just said I McGuyvered it to Ellie, so that we'd have a reason to be there together." A make-believe Faraday cage, with a real Ring communicator inside, in case Ellie needed more to believe than just them. Chuck popped open the Bluetooth shell, and removed what looked like the world's smallest wad of chewing gum. "There we go," he said, putting it back together.

Just then, the Ring phone rang. "Showtime," said Chuck.

* * *

Later, outside Crystal Towers…

"What kind of a Ring target would be in a place like this?" asked Sarah. Chuck had gone after Devon, and she was keeping herself from fidgeting by looking over the building's tenant list, which stopped at the eleventh floor.

"We're about to find out," said Casey, more concerned with tactics than strategy. "Security guard is down, accessing the elevator now."

* * *

In Washington DC, Diane Beckman was enjoying a particularly late night, monitoring her best team's actions in the van. She hated doing it, but she knew her part in Shaw's little roleplay and she would play it, right up to the hilt. She smiled at the phrase.

To the hilt.

* * *

Back in LA…

"Oh, no," said Sarah.

"What?" said Casey. "He just took down six guys." He really had to check out some of these games Bartowski played.

"He's not flashing," said Sarah.

"Here comes Prince," said Casey. "Get ready."

* * *

In her office, Diane Beckman pressed two buttons in succession, one to lock down the van, one to let her best team know that they were once again being watched. "Stand down, team…"

* * *

Upstairs, Devon heard the sound of a single gunshot. He rushed into the inner office, and saw Chuck standing over the body of a tall, muscular man. A single gunshot wound to the upper torso had turned his shirt red. "Chuck, what did you do?"

"Exactly what he told me to," said Agent Carmichael.

* * *

 **A/N2** Things get dark pretty quickly around Shaw. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N** A little late, I've been putting together the files for my latest novel, so progress on this was delayed a little. Fortunately PJ Murphy stepped into the gap with another chapter of Jen Burton: Spy Girl.

I'm gonna let Chuck take it from here.

* * *

" _I don't want to go to spy-land."_

" _Her file is red-flagged._ _"_

" _Keep it simple."_

" _Exactly what he told me to._ _"_

* * *

The next night, in Castle…

"Agents, allow me to introduce CIA Special Agent Daniel Shaw," said Beckman formally.

"We've met, General," said Chuck, less formally, "If you can count someone sticking a gun in your hand and telling you to shoot him as a meeting."

Sarah touched her foot to his, under the table.

"Pretty much the only meetings I get," said Casey. "Except I bring my own gun, and they aren't asking."

"Moving on," said Beckman, "Agent Shaw has spent the last five years working to take out the Ring, but that's essentially a bonus. While he has command authority on all missions pertaining to the Ring, his primary role will be to function as Chuck's trainer for the Intersect."

Sarah, already on her best behavior, began to pay even more attention to this…guy.

"I'm fully briefed," said Shaw, coming around to the front of the table, giving her a slight smile. "I know everything."

"That makes one of us," said Chuck, trying not to sound hostile. "I don't think the guy who _invented_ it knows everything."

"About the failure of your training," Shaw clarified, apparently unaware of the General pursing her lips on the monitor behind him, "And your recent successes in the field. I plan to build on those successes." He turned back to the monitor. "Thank you, General. I'll take it from here."

"Very good, Agent Shaw. Bartowski, Walker. Colonel. You're in good hands. Good luck." Beckman killed the monitor but continued to watch the meeting, surveilling her team for her own purposes this time. Her team was in good hands. Hers.

"My successes are due as much to my team as they are to the Intersect." Chuck waved a hand at his partners, winning a smile from Sarah (and the General) and a pleased grunt from Casey. "It gets me into trouble and they get me out."

Shaw shook his head. "You were working alone last night."

"Because you locked them in the van," said Chuck. "Anyway, I wasn't flashing last night. I play a lot of Duck Hunt and Call of Duty. More than enough."

"You put a bullet through my shoulder, Chuck," said Shaw. "You missed every major blood vessel, bones, muscle mass. The doctor said it couldn't have done less real damage if it had been laser-guided. Was that Duck Hunt, too?"

"No," said Chuck, "That was a flash, after I thought about all the crap my sister would have given me if I'd let you do it yourself. The way you were pointing that pistol, you would probably have punctured a lung, severed an artery, shattered a bone, done some nerve damage, and destroyed your entire shoulder joint. Instead here you are, with an ace bandage wrapped around you, using that arm as if nothing was wrong. Speaking about the medical knowledge that saved your life and career, last night, what about Devon?"

Shaw gathered up some thick binders and handed them out. "An overview of Ring procedures," he said. "They operate through a network of decentralized cells. We capture Sydney, we can contain the knowledge of Devon's identity."

Chuck ignored his binder, much as he loved reading operating manuals. "Then why not capture her last night? She was right there."

"Without her team, Chuck," said Sarah.

"Correct," said Shaw. "Had she brought her team along we would have implemented a different branch of my decision tree. If we'd taken her on her own, her men would have scattered, and they knew Devon's name at least. Her kill order on me was actually my plan B. We're all off her radar now."

"Devon's not."

"Exactly," said Shaw. "She thinks she's got him, now. He's our mole."

Chuck frowned. "He's my brother-in-law, not a mole."

"Chuck, none of us want this," said Sarah. "As long as Sydney's out there, he's her target."

"It'll take more than a bullet in her shoulder to make her let him go, too," added Casey.

"So the real question is, Chuck," said Shaw, "Do you have a better plan?"

"Do I have a better plan?" said Chuck. "A trained monkey would have a better plan! A CIA janitor with a bag of newspaper clippings and a pair of scissors would have a better plan."

Casey coughed. Sarah suddenly found the material of the table-top fascinating, her lips pressed tightly together. Shaw spared them a glance, but nothing more. "Okay, Agent Bartowski. I'm waiting."

* * *

Morgan walked slowly around the back room of the Buy More, setting it to rights. Technically that was a job for the greenshirts, but since they were the ones who set it to wrongs in the first place, he decided to do it himself. The first thing to go was that battery-charger-arc-welder thingie, probably can't get their money back from Large Mart for that. Not only was it a Buy More purchase, and they never got their money back on those, but either Jeff or Lester had wired it directly into the store's electrical system. A lot of crap, including a green shirt that smelled as if Jeff had wiped under his arms with it, he simply shoved into a corner with a broom.

Last but not least, a teddy bear, positioned as best he could on the shelves full of stuff they either weren't trying hard enough to sell or working hard enough to repair. When Morgan flipped the switch in the back, the first thing the nanny-cam inside recorded was the image of the floor getting rapidly closer. He picked it up and put it back, aimed at Chuck's repair station. His boy had done a lot of disappearing into and reappearing from thin air lately, and Morgan wanted to see it when it happened. He had cameras all over the store. Whatever was happening in his store–he stroked his assistant manager's vest proudly–he'd get to the bottom of it.

* * *

Someone knocked on the door, and Ellie picked up her favorite frying pan as Devon went to answer it. One of them, those guys with the black suits and the hoods, was outside. He looked at her and gave her a thumbs-up, which made her feel a bit better, and he held out a white box. Her husband fumbled in his pocket for that evil phone and put it in the box. The masked man shook Devon's hand and that was that. Devon shut the door. "We're done," he said. "I'm out."

She put down the frying pan and opened her arms, and he walked right into them. "Oh no, you're not, mister," she said with a smile. "You're just getting started. Or you will be soon, if you know what's good for you."

"You know, babe, you're a pretty scary lady too," said Devon, pulling her close. "It looks better on you."

* * *

Chuck left the gear in Castle, and took the block box to his station up in the Buy More. It had most of the gear he had downstairs but it was open to transmission, as well as tracking. Sydney had to come to him, so she needed to know where he was. But he'd barely gotten the first screw loosened before his eyes were watering. What was that smell?

A stinking green shirt, buried in a pile of trash and boxes, shoved into the space behind his table. He took the nearby broom and pulled the offending pile out of there, so he could push it across the floor. He hit the shelf and knocked off a…teddy bear? Whatever. Too many things to worry about right now. He put it back on the shelf and cleared his space.

Time to bait his trap.

* * *

Sydney Prince stalked into the signals room of her little organization, soon, with the help of Devon Woodcombe, however unenthusiastic he might be, to be much larger. "Where did you say it's coming from?"

"The Burbank Buy More," said Glen, her signals guy.

"Add it to the file," she said to her SIC, Ian. When the Woodcombe guy had gone there before, they'd hashed possible explanations, before concluding that they needed more data. This data point moved the location out of the 'coincidence' category. "Let me know the sec–"

Her phone started to ring. For a second Sydney wondered what the sound was, since no one ever called in on that device, the handle of a leash that only she held. She didn't like being handled, it made her angry. She stabbed a finger at the board and her man started a trace as she answered the call. "Who opened this channel?" she demanded harshly. "Who are you?"

" _I'm the spy that shot and killed Agent Shaw last night."_

The wrong voice. "You're not Devon Woodcombe."

" _No, I'm not."_ The voice dripped sarcasm. _"He was just a decoy."_

A decoy? Had she been played?

" _I'm the one who put a bullet through Agent Shaw's chest last night, and I am the one that's in charge of this little operation."_

In charge? Someone moving in on her territory, the way she'd moved in on Artman's? And then called her to brag about it. Clearly this idiot had no idea how the Ring operated, she'd be better off putting a bullet in her own chest, rather than just let some nobody walk in and take her position. She specialized in control. Once she lost that she would be of no further value to the organization. If they ever found out.

She had to respond, he had to know that, but he'd only ever seen her. She killed the connection, and looked at Glen. He waved at the board, the signal had come from the Buy More. "Get the others," she said.

* * *

A little later, in the Buy More…

Chuck waited at the Nerd Herd desk, watching the door. When he saw Sydney and her team approach the doors, he made the call. "Sarah, they're here."

He was answered with static.

* * *

Down in Castle…

Sarah puffed out a breath, anxiously waiting for Chuck's call. If he was right, Sydney had to bring everyone she had, and they didn't know how many that would be. Once they arrived, she and Casey were waiting to flank them from the Orange Orange, but Shaw recommended they not go up there until after Chuck made the call. Just in case.

She stared at the screen, waiting for that call. Waiting. Waiting. Chuck was still looking out the window.

The screen flickered. Chuck was still looking out the window.

"Casey! The feed's been looped!" She changed the source for the big screen and saw Sydney by the desk and Chuck nowhere in sight.

Casey tried his phone. "No signal."

"They must have a jammer," said Shaw, but they were already up the direct stairs to the Buy More. The wounded agent stood by to watch the show.

* * *

Casey and Sarah came out of the break room, guns drawn. They saw the team that Sydney had sent to look for alternative entrances. Casey shot one but the other ducked behind the washing machines. "Go," he said, and Sarah threw herself into the Home Theater room and out the other side.

* * *

Sydney followed her first team through the main entrance to the back room, because that's what they expected. While they looked at shadows she looked at the lighted area in the cage and saw the phone they'd given Devon, bait for an obvious trap. She sprang it. "Check the cage," she said, and Glen moved to comply.

He grabbed the knob and stiffened, firing his gun as he twitched spasmodically. One of his shots took out Ian, and she took the opportunity to shoot Glen before he might accidentally shoot her too. This spy, whoever he was, had initiated that call, Glen and Ian had known that much. _Good work, whoever you are!_ Two down with one trap. He'd have been a useful addition to her stable, but not now.

Now all she had to do was kill this mystery agent and she could tell whatever story she wanted to her bosses in the Ring.

The door behind her slammed open, but before she could turn Sarah was kicking the gun from her hand. Mystery Agent had a team, even better. After a few exchanges, though, Sydney began to doubt her clever plan, this woman fought like a she-devil, a whirlwind, and she was hard pressed to keep up.

Until a toy, a…teddy bear, of all things, fell off a shelf, and the blonde agent slipped on it. Sydney grabbed a flailing arm and threw her attacker across the room, into a pile of trash. Now she could see about her own miraculous escape. Not the best plan, but she'd at least break even. She made it as far as the loading dock.

"Stop!" shouted Mr. Buy More. "Do not move."

She moved, raising her arms and turning around. He had a gun, her gun, pointed at her. Strange that he hadn't shot her already. She would have. "Or what, you'll shoot me?" His features firmed up remarkably, and she realized she'd made a deadly error. His mask of innocence was the best she'd ever seen, but he was something much harder underneath.

"Don't make me," said Agent Carmichael. "Please."

He would, she knew. He'd said 'please'. No spy said 'please', unless he was prepared to back it up.

Chuck flashed.

* * *

In the back room…

Sarah smelled something utterly foul, and got up from the pile of boxes and trash she'd fallen into. "Chuck?"

* * *

Her gun, in his hands, moved away from its line with her chest, and Sydney moved. Two shots rang out, and Sydney fell, dropping a knife. Daniel Shaw walked up from where he'd been standing behind her.

"What the hell did you do that for?" shouted Chuck. "I shot her in the foot, she was no threat to anyone."

"Look again, Chuck," said Shaw. He nudged something out from behind Sydney's body into the yellow light. A Ring phone, its screen cracked and useless. "She could have pressed a button and gotten fifty agents down here."

"From where, central casting?" said Chuck. "If she could have called for more guys she'd have done it the second I got away from her."

Shaw put his gun away calmly. "I guess we'll never know."

* * *

 **A/N2** I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N** Not a lot in this section, especially with the Fight Club stuff gone, so Beckman gets some time she didn't get in canon.

* * *

" _We've met."_

" _A trained monkey would have a better plan!_ _"_

" _The feed's been looped!"_

" _I guess we'll never know._ _"_

* * *

The battle was over, the post-battle clean-up took a bit longer. Bodies, bloodstains, and of course a few top-of-the-line washing machines having made the ultimate sacrifice. The only Buy More item not in its original position when the clean-up crew left was a soiled green shirt. It was bothering the crew, but not enough to justify breaking out their haz-mat gear. Chuck didn't think anyone would miss it.

Shaw had picked up the broken phone from where it lay near Sydney's body, but Chuck claimed it for himself as the best technologist of the group, and of course Shaw couldn't argue with that. With Sydney herself in a body-bag, it was the only useful intel they were likely to get from the whole debacle, unless it could lead them somehow to her base of operations, which wasn't likely.

Their vehicle was a rental, with nothing in it except the jammer that Shaw had predicted they'd find.

Eventually even the reports were finished. "Congratulations, Chuck," said Shaw at the wrap-up meeting. "You brought off the mission, _your_ mission, with flying colors. You've protected your brother-in-law's identity admirably."

"We got lucky," said Casey. "If Sarah hadn't noticed the looped footage we'd have still been down there while Sydney was dragging Chuck away."

"I think you underestimate Agent Bartowski, Colonel," said Shaw. "A relic, no doubt, of your earlier service together, before his training. This is why I was brought in, a fresh pair of eyes with no preconceptions about what Agent Bartowski can or cannot do."

"I know what Chuck can do, Shaw, and that's a lot," said Casey, standing. "And I still say we got lucky." He limped away, before Shaw could insult him a second time.

"And we didn't risk my family doing it," said Chuck. "I don't expect you to understand, being the spy that you are. You don't care about anybody…"

"I may not agree with Colonel Casey about why we got lucky, Chuck," said Shaw, "But that doesn't change the fact that we did get lucky. Family and friends make us vulnerable, make us unable to pull the trigger. That normally puts everyone in greater danger. Just ask your partner here, she'll tell you the same thing."

Sarah spoke up for herself. "Sometimes it helps to know you've got something to lose."

"Exactly my point," said Shaw. "Normally those connections put everyone in greater danger, but a good agent can use those same connections as motivation. You wouldn't risk Devon, so you came up with a plan that put him at no risk." He waved a hand towards Sarah. "Our risk was greater, of course–"

"I'll take the trade," said Chuck. "There's nothing I care about more than my friends and my family."

"And that's a good thing, Chuck," said Shaw, "When your family and friends are threatened. What you have to learn is to summon up that same kind of drive when they aren't. That's what I'm here to help you learn to do. But not tonight. We'll get a fresh start in the morning." With a friendly nod, he left the room.

Chuck and Sarah sat companionably at the table, each lost in his own thoughts. "Sarah," said Chuck suddenly, "I'm sorry if my plan put you at any greater risk than Shaw's would have. I was only trying to protect Devon."

"And that's what you should do, Chuck," said Sarah, putting a hand over his. "We're trained to handle this sort of thing, Devon isn't. You are that guy, even Shaw sees it. You made the right call."

* * *

Diane Beckman sat in her office, wondering if her counterpart had gotten accustomed yet to the… bombardment of reports that erupted out of their Burbank field office at such irregular intervals. Not that this batch was unexpected, just a bit early, according to the timeline. She could have warned the man to disregard timelines when dealing with Team Bartowski, but why make it easy on him.

First up, she scanned the cleaners' report, and sighed. Three washing machines? The machines were cheap compared to the fake identities that would have to be created to buy them, but she signed off on the purchase. At least Colonel Casey would get another Salesman of the Year award. Those were always fun.

She pulled up the first of the reports, saving Colonel Casey's for last, as usual. Not only was his style the most suited to her own, it helped to have read the other reports so she'd be able to interpret his arcane footnotes. Chuck's were as open and forthright as the man himself, which was refreshing, so she usually started with him, putting Sarah's in second position. Now she would have to figure out a proper positioning for Shaw's reports as well, but for today she'd place his report in the third spot.

Chuck's reports had gotten much less verbose over time, clear and concise, and his Failure Analysis was candid, as usual. He understood his own errors, but he was too willing to accept blame. Sarah's report would probably have a better take on that, she was far more willing to tout Chuck's accomplishments than he was. Ah, Chuck's plan was modified by Shaw. She would have to see what Shaw had to say about that.

His report was both dry and colorless, she didn't envy her CIA counterpart having to deal with this man on a daily basis. Probably why they shifted him across the country. A computer printout would have more character. The modification he'd recommended was there, but no mention was made of any possible pinch-points resulting from it, which there should have been.

Casey's report offered no new insights but a certain amount of humor, as always. Still chuckling. she skimmed the overnight feed from Castle and the Buy More above it. The encounter started well, but Chuck was outnumbered five to one, his backup still watching a blank screen. As Chuck fled the room Sarah suddenly moved, and she and Casey went for the stairs, while Shaw stayed below. Gunplay, gunplay, blah, blah blah. Shaw strolling to the Orange Orange exit. Miss Prince shot front and back, thanks so much Agent Shaw for killing our only lead…Cleaners cleaning, meeters meeting, leavers leaving, and…there's Chuck, sitting at the table, fiddling with that damn phone.

Wait a minute…

* * *

Chuck sat in the living room, examining the phone yet again, as Morgan busied himself in the kitchen, his Benihana dreams dashed but his culinary skills intact. The house had been cleaned from top to bottom, not that it needed much, Bartowskis being neat freaks and all. Since the place had once been Ellie's home, the last thing Chuck wanted was for her to see any lack in his caretaking. Especially after that disastrous 'housewarming' party Jeff and Lester had thrown!

A knock on the door and it was showtime, only without the guns and the violence. Ellie glowing, Awesome far too relaxed, he didn't want to know what that was about but he could guess. "Welcome to our, formerly your, home."

Morgan came out bearing a tray of something red that smelled good. Even Ellie allowed that she might possibly love it. As she pressed Morgan for the details of his work, Chuck went to the door to answer a second knock, to let Sarah and Casey in. Devon flashed them a discreet thumbs-up. "Looks like you two are just in time," he said. "As usual."

Morgan wiped his hands on the towel hanging off his apron. "What am I, chopped scallions? No love for the new Buy More Assistant Manager?"

Everybody congratulated him. Even Casey's grunt had a more positive note to it. They all sat down as Casey opened the bottle of wine Ellie'd brought. He'd brought one too, but his wouldn't complement the meal as well as hers. He took a lot of pride in his work, even if it was just fake-bartending.

"And let me tell you," said Morgan as Chuck began serving out what he'd made, "After this first day on the job, any other day is gonna seem like a piece of cake. Oh man, I forgot dessert! Anyway, Lester bumped his head at work–he and Jeff tried to claim Chuck did it, like I'd ever believe that–and came up with this whole cockamamie theory of pain as a sign he was alive."

"Pain _is_ a sign that you're alive, Morgan," said Ellie. "I'm a doctor, trust me."

"Okay, but Lester turned it into a cult," said Morgan. "Started a fight club, had everybody beating each other up while he egged them on. Pretty sick stuff."

* * *

What Morgan didn't mention, because this was supposed to be a happy dinner-ish occasion and he didn't want anyone to lose their appetites, was Jeff's shirt. Not his work shirt, which smelled bad enough. Apparently he'd taken someone else's green shirt as a trophy of his first victory in the ring, and used it to wipe himself down after every bout. He'd claimed he'd lost it, which only proved to Morgan that the man had no sense of smell whatever. Morgan had told him to look in the back room, in a pile of debris, but Jeff came back and said it wasn't there. Since he couldn't imagine anyone touching the thing without a direct order, and a pair of tongs, Morgan had gone back there himself.

He didn't find it either. The pile of trash had been still there. Everything had been where it was supposed to have been, except…except something. It was too…neat. Even the dust was scattered evenly. Weird. He'd gone for his teddy bear, not for comfort but for the recordings inside. Except the recording was blank.

He'd checked around the store, looking for his other cameras, but they were blank too. Except for the one actually in the camera section. Apparently Jeff and Lester had co-opted it, recognizing its secretive recording possibilities and in need of a new device. "Some newbie sold our boob-cam," Jeff had complained. "I hope it was to a guy." Whatever presence was manifesting in his store, aliens or ghosts or whatever, he was clearly going to have to be smarter about catching it.

* * *

"Well, I'm glad that you're there now to give them better leadership," said Chuck.

"Thanks, Chuck."

"This must be the weekend for weird experiences," said Ellie.

"Babe?" cautioned Devon.

"It's all right, Devon," she said. "They never said we couldn't talk about it."

Three pairs of hands stilled. "Talk about what?" said Chuck.

"You remember that phone thing you helped Devon with?" she asked, and Chuck nodded. "Well it turns out it was real spy stuff. After saving the Premier twice someone actually thought Devon was a spy, can you believe it? He can't lie to save his life. So he had this team, all in black, they said it was so I wouldn't accidentally recognize them in a store. That kind of creeps me out, the idea that these same guys could pass me in a store and I wouldn't recognize them…"

* * *

Far away, Daniel Shaw watched her tell some story, throwing her arms around animatedly while the others just sort of sat there. He wondered what she was saying, but the bug he'd planted in Bartowski's home didn't have sound capacity. That would have made it too easy to spot. The only reason he could think of that Bartowski hadn't already found it was that agents' private spaces aren't supposed to be monitored. Which made what he was doing illegal, but he did illegal things all the time. He was a spy.

Sarah and Casey were spies too, but Chuck had invited them to this dinner and not him. Some sort of personal thing. That was going to complicate his mission. He pulled out the box he kept in his pocket at all times. He opened it, took out the ring inside, and slipped it on the third finger of his left hand. Daniel Shaw knew better than most why spies should never fall in love. He had to make sure Chuck learned that lesson as well.

It was his duty.

* * *

 **A/N2** I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	19. Rulebreaker

**A/N Shaw's first day on the job.**

* * *

" _We got lucky."_

" _You made the right call._ _"_

" _Pretty sick stuff."_

" _That kind of creeps me out._ _"_

* * *

The Buy More was quiet this morning. Weird. Chuck could track Casey down by the grunts and the clanks. The cleaners had done a great job, but they didn't work here. He preferred his machines to be presented 'just so', and was perfectly willing to do the grunt work of making it that way.

"Hey, Casey, where is, oh, anybody?"

"You ask as if you thought I wanted to know," said Casey, tightening the straps around the next machine with increasing ferocity. "I'd say they were in the back room, if I had to think about them at all, but then I'd have to think about them. Why are you trying to ruin a day that's starting out so well?

"Don't wear yourself out," said Chuck. "I was hoping we could do some sparring."

"Can't," said Casey, tilting the handtruck. "Superboy came back, he's down in Castle right now. Seemed like a good opportunity to make myself scarce." He walked away.

Chuck followed. "Scared of him, Casey?"

"You watch your mouth, Bartowski," said the big man. "I've got back-issues of Guns & Ammo older than him, even if he is a special agent. The problem with special agents, especially the CIA kind, is that they can usually do what they want. This gives them the illusion that they're in charge. Seemed like a bad way to start off our first day to remind him that he isn't." He undid the strap and shifted the machine into place. "I'll save that for the second day."

"He's more special than me?" asked Chuck.

"Different kind of 'special', numb-nuts," said Casey, grabbing his hand-truck. "Yours is a form of merit, I don't know how Shaw got his, but his is the kind that puts him in charge of yours. Sucks to be you."

Chuck followed him back across the floor. "He's in charge of me? Really?"

"No," said Casey, "Not really. Just your training. And anything to do with the Ring. I imagine he'll be looking for those missions the way a hammer looks for nails."

Meaning Chuck was screwed. "Great."

"Oh, it gets worse," said Casey cheerfully. "For you, that is. Whenever a special agent takes over, even if it's a little dinghy instead of an ocean liner, he usually conducts a review. Sarah's down there with him right now."

Sarah had nothing to do with his training. Not officially, anyway. "What do you think they're talking about?"

* * *

Down in Castle…

Sarah sat across from Shaw at the big table. She was a little cold, the orange tank top wasn't very warm, but Shaw seemed to think it was her problem. At least he wasn't staring at her, either, mostly looking down. He wore glasses, and took notes on paper. "How many times has Agent Bartowski lost control of the skills?"

"Positively or negatively?" asked Sarah. Negatively? Almost twice. He eventually got the mariachi guitar thing to work. Positively? Four times, and she'd had to kiss him back into control for two of them, not that she minded. They were the only times she got to touch him, more than a little bit, and now Shaw was going to take even that little bit away from her. So easy to hate him for that, but he was also there to help Chuck learn control. That meant she wouldn't have to be the guardian of his heart anymore, and could…close in.

She stared at the top of Shaw's head as he wrote. All of those incidents were in the reports, so clearly he was after something that wasn't in the reports.

"Both," said Shaw, looking up. "I need to know what kind of man I'm working with. The reports from the last two years tell a very mixed story, don't you think? Part James Bond, part…Jerry Lewis." He gave her a smile.

She didn't return it. "No, Agent Shaw." She wondered what reports he was reading. Her own were mostly positive about Chuck and his contributions, but since he was an asset and supposed to stay in the car, she'd tried to keep them low-key. Casey mostly went on about the gunplay, and of course Chuck rarely played himself up at all.

If he really saw Chuck that way, she'd have to correct him. If he was trying to get her to see Chuck that way, she'd have to correct him _more._ Either way, she was in no mood to smile at Agent Shaw.

Shaw lost the smile and sat back, putting down the papers he was holding. "Explain."

Sarah held up her hands, far apart. "James Bond and Jerry Lewis are opposite extremes, suave and silly." She shook her head. "Chuck is like neither of them, in any way. He's simply Chuck being Chuck, for better or for worse."

Shaw looked at her, she looked at him back. "Better?" he asked.

"If you're going to compare him to James Bond, be aware that those times are when he was most himself, when he was being _Chuck_ ," she said, as if it was obvious. "His 'Jerry Lewis' moments are from when he was trying to be a spy."

"Trying to be?" said Shaw. He'd read all of Agent Bartowski's fitness reports, his final scores. Trying to reconcile those with the team's prior reports is what prompted this review. "So Chuck isn't a spy?"

Sarah smiled, finally, but not at Shaw. "'Spy' is the least of the things Chuck is."

* * *

Upstairs...

"They're talking about me?" said Chuck, as Lester walked past. "Why doesn't he just talk to me?"

"Where's the fun in that?" asked Casey.

More greenshirts walked by. "Has he talked to you?"

"Of course."

"What he ask? What did you say?"

"Come on, Chuck, haven't you heard of a little thing called confidentiality?"

"I haven't," said Jeff as he ambled past.

Chuck shrugged. "I doubt you said anything _that_ bad, it's not like you want to stay here."

"Got me there," said Casey. He looked past Chuck and curled his lip in a sneer. "Well, here's another county heard from."

Morgan was dragging himself across the floor in a chair. "This is new," said Chuck. "Are you glued to a chair?"

"That's the only reason it worked," said Morgan. "Believe me it's going into the book. I don't suppose you can go over to the Large Mart and get me some new pants?"

Chuck rolled his eyes, but dropped his bag in his best friend's lap. "Be right back. Casey, can you do something to get him out of there?"

Casey smiled. "I know just the thing." He grabbed the back of Morgan's chair and dragged him back down the hall, ignoring Morgan's every attempt to hold on to anything.

"Chuuuuuck!"

* * *

Meanwhile, back in DC…

Someone, probably her aide, tapped twice on General Beckman's door. "Come," she said, not looking up.

The door opened and her aide stuck his head into the room. "Agent Jones to see you, ma'am."

Beckman looked up at that. "Excellent. Send her in."

Agent Jones walked into the room and came to attention before the General's desk. "It is my understanding that you are acquainted with Agent Charles Carmichael in LA, is that correct?"

"He blundered into our mission and I mistook him for an assassin, General."

"And took him down in textbook fashion. Good work." Beckman slid open a drawer, and pulled out a box. "That also means that you know the man I want you to give this to, by sight."

* * *

Chuck came back to the Buy More, red bag in hand, the offending 'Large Mart' logo carefully folded under. He went to the corridor he'd last seen them rolling down, where a large crowd had gathered around a broom closet. "Ow!"

"Stand still, Grimes," came Casey's muffled voice from inside. "Bad enough you're losing your pants, but _I'm_ the only commando I want to see in this room." Something made a ripping sound. Morgan made a screaming sound. The closet door opened from inside, and Casey stuck his head out, and one hand, holding a Ka-bar knife. "Work," he snarled at his audience, and they all fled. "Pants," he snarled at Chuck, and Chuck handed him the bag.

Casey pulled back into the room, and closed the door, not that this caused Chuck any difficulty hearing his every word. "Grimes. You will take this knife and remove the rest of this crap on your own. I will hold station outside this door and I do not, repeat not, want to hear a sound as you do it. You will then put on these pants and perform your duties to the best of your ability. You will return my knife cleaned, sharpened, and disinfected. Is this understood, or shall I get out my crayons?"

Chuck heard a mumbled affirmative.

The door opened and Casey came out. He closed it and stood in front. "Lester's not talking, which can only be a good thing."

"Morgan fired him."

"Good for him."

"And then hired him back."

"That was his mistake," said Casey "There's only two things you should do to a defeated enemy, and that isn't either one of them. He should have let Lester dry up and blow away, like a leaf in the wind. You just give me five minutes in charge of this popsicle stand, we'll be ready."

"And if the Russians ever invade, I know where I'll hole up."

Casey's phone buzzed, and he checked the screen. He pounded on the door. "Hurry up in there, Grimes, we've got things to do."

To Chuck he said, "You go. Shaw wants to see you. I'll be right along."

* * *

Chuck sat and looked at Shaw. Shaw sat and looked at Chuck. Sarah sat and watched them both. Finally Casey came down the stairs and sat. "Okay, Shaw," he said. "You wanted us, we're here."

"Thank you, Colonel," said Shaw. He stood up, trying to control the floor. "I think we can safely say that this team has been pretty dysfunctional for the last two years."

"I'm sure all the terrorists, cabals, and conspiracies we've put away in that time will agree with you," said Casey.

"I don't say you haven't been effective," said Shaw, coming to stand between Sarah and Casey, opposite Chuck. "But considering all the glowing words I've been hearing about Agent Bartowski's abilities, I would expect this team of being capable of far more. I think I've determined the critical weakness, and how to address it."

"What weakness is that, Agent Shaw?" said Chuck, prepared to take his medicine.

Shaw spread his hands. "These two."

"What?" said Sarah.

"Like I thought, he's a moron," said Casey.

"Chuck, I believe Sarah and Casey when they say you have tremendous ability–" both Chuck and Sarah looked at Casey, boggle-eyed "–so much so that I can only believe that this team's failure to live up to its potential is because you are holding back, and your partners are the reason." Shaw went back to his chair, but didn't sit. "You're protecting them, limiting yourself so that they can keep up to the best of their abilities, which I think fall far short of your own."

"That's just the Intersect–"

"Noted," said Shaw, "And ignored. You had no Intersect skills until recently. They are an addition to your own natural talent, not a substitute."

"You think so?"

"I know so," said Shaw, brimming over with confidence. "So, my plan is to send you on a solo mission, where I can get a sense of your ability, unhindered by other agents."

"I…don't think that would be a good idea," said Chuck, looking at Sarah.

"Agent Walker is a good, experienced agent," said Shaw with a nod. "But she's not an Intersect agent, so that experience does you no good. You have to blaze your own trail, so I'm going to send you on a solo flight to Paris, and let you blaze it there." Shaw smiled. "Maybe we should start calling you Agent Lindbergh, Charles."

* * *

 **A/N2** The Bond-Lewis comparison was an attempt on their part to retcon the whole story into that line, which was a ridiculous comparison for anyone who actually watched the first two seasons. Unless the producers actually believed that about their own creation, or wanted it to be that. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N** So Shaw, a real life honest to God CIA agent, thinks Chuck should go to Paris. A pretty insulting line, canon was subtle that way. Sarah's a real life, honest to God CIA agent too, isn't she?

* * *

 _"Superboy came back."_

 _"_ _'Spy' is the least of the things Chuck is._ _"_

 _"_ _What weakness is that?"_

 _"_ _You have to blaze your own trail._ _"_

* * *

Chuck and Agent Shaw walking around the Buy More sales floor, alone. "Have you ever had one of these?" asked Shaw, holding up a small cylindrical object.

"Hey, a KGB tranq pen," said Chuck, taking it. "Casey's got one of these too, he loves the little gizmos. He calls it 'bedtime for bad guy'." Shaw simply looked at him. "You _do_ know Casey's a Ronald Reagan fan, right?"

"You do know how to use one of these, right?" asked Shaw. At Chuck's nod, he said "Show me," pointing at a nearby mug of coffee. It had the name 'Jeff' on the side, along with the Nerd Herd logo. Its owner, Jeff, was entering data into the computer, looking glum at having to work.

Chuck took one look, appalled. "You want me to tranq Jeff? I can't do that."

"I've read everyone's file," said Shaw, with a gentle wave. "Jeff Barnes will be fine."

"No, I mean I really can't do that," said Chuck. "Jeff Barnes comes pre-tranqed. He tranqs himself for fun."

"I don't care if he drinks it, Chuck," said Shaw, with a sigh. Somehow Chuck didn't think him the sighing type. "I just want to see you in action. Distract him and administer the dose. If what you say is true, no one will even notice."

"Oh," said Chuck. "Yeah, I can do that." The worst that could happen is that Jeff would fall over unconscious. It's not like that had never happened before. He walked over to the Nerd Herd desk, pen in hand. "Hey, Jeff."

The wild-haired man didn't look up. "What do you want, collaborator?"

Chuck tried to project an air of complete innocence. "Just trying to safeguard your health and well-being," he said. "Morgan–"

Jeff's lip curled. On purpose. "The traitor-in-chief?"

"Yeah, that Morgan. He just got a phone call from the coffee service people. It seems they installed the wrong filter yesterday. Your coffee here…" He pressed the release and tapped the rim of the mug with his pen "…could have some unhealthy additives in it." Chuck put the pen in his pocket protector and grabbed the mug. "We just got it fixed, let me get you a fresh one."

Jeff grabbed it back. "Hey, don't think I don't know what you're doing," he said, cupping a hand over it protectively. "You're gonna take my coffee back to that little weasel. Sorry, Chuck, nothing doing."

Chuck shrugged, looking sheepish. "Okay, Jeff, you caught me." He walked away, the picture of defeat.

Lester came up behind his companion in tomfoolery, in his usual sinister style. "What was that all about?"

"Just Chuck, going on about toxic additives in the coffee again," said Jeff. He took a sip, testing the brew like a connoisseur. Finally he sneered, "Doesn't taste any different."

* * *

"Excellent work, Chuck," said Shaw, as Chuck got closer. "Why did you try to take the mug? Wouldn't it have made more sense to knock it over?"

"I assumed you wanted to see a proper scenario," said Chuck. "Reverse psychology has always worked best with him. No faster way to make him drink it than to try and take it away." They looked back to see Jeff continue to drink. "He's got a pretty high tolerance."

"Plus that pen was loaded with distilled water," said Shaw. He handed Chuck a second pen. "You didn't think I'd ask you to tranq a civilian in public, did you? That would be both stupid and unethical."

Neither of them things Chuck wanted to be. "Right there with you," he said, taking the new pen and handing over the old. "What's next?"

"Nothing," said Shaw. "I've seen your proficiency ratings already, but your training in Prague was cancelled before this scenario came up." He checked his watch. "Your things should be prepared down in Castle, so let's get you on your way."

* * *

"The CIA contact will meet you in Paris, Agent Carmichael," said Sarah, straightening the tie in the briefcase while staring at the one around his neck.

Casey had the paperwork ready. "Your itinerary, business cards, and passport, Mr. Carmichael." He watched as Chuck put all of his real papers in a box, and loaded up with the fake stuff. "Okay, reality check."

Chuck stuck out a hand. "Hi, Charles Carmichael, Carmichael Industries. Just making a few quick stops in Paris and Brussels, on my way to the big software and security expo in Bern."

"There'd better be one," warned Casey.

"There is," said Chuck, pulling his hand back. "The usual trade show, but the focus is on electronic security instead of the physical stuff. It's called Cyber-SAFE." He flipped some of the clothes back, and handed Casey some of the brochures underneath.

Sarah noticed something else. "Nunchuks, Chuck?" she said, picking them up.

"Absolutely," said Chuck. "Non-lethal, and you know how I feel about lethal weaponry. Quiet, safe for use in enclosed spaces like hotel rooms. A bit of a crazy hobby to have, I guess, but really no one's supposed to see them."

"Are they in the–"

"Yes, they are," he said, taking them back, brushing his fingers over hers as he did. "If I lose control I figure I can just whack myself in the head." He stuck them back in the case as Sarah went to get something else.

Casey handed him the brochures. "It looks to me like you could really use some back-up…"

"He goes alone," said Shaw, coming out of the back room. "Sorry about that, Colonel, but look at the bright side. Weap-Con is next month. Wouldn't want to use up your vacation time early." He handed Chuck a phone. "We've set up a subnetwork on your phone. You should be able to text and call from the plane."

"Here's your ticket," said Sarah, sounding like a proper personal assistant. "Your car is outside, Mr. Carmichael."

Shaw nodded. Whatever got the student into the role. "You'll get further instructions in Paris."

Chuck checked the ticket. "First class." He sounded impressed, then he looked at his partners and smiled. "What, again?"

* * *

Everything went well until he got settled into his seat. His companion was a beautiful brunette, perfect in every way. A little on the short side, perhaps. Fortunately, Sarah was more perfect, and he'd already practiced his spiel. He only babbled a little, right at the beginning.

"Cyber-SAFE, huh? Sounds like fun, I wish I could go, Charles-but-my-friends-call-me-Chuck." She held out a hand, with a card in it. "Hannah, but my friends call me Hannah."

Great, a colleague. This mission just kept getting better and better. Maybe he should just go get a…

"Drinks?" asked the flight attendant, with a couple of flutes of champagne on a tray.

Chair-side service. Terrific. Well, at least it gave him something to hold. Maybe a mouthful of champagne would keep Miss Curious here from–

"So, what do you think of our fellow passengers?" asked Hannah, pointing.

Chuck looked around, and flashed. "Uh, Syrian dignitaries there." He looked elsewhere, and flashed again. "Those look like nuclear physicists to me." The next group brought no flash. "Um…"

"Yale fencing team," said Hannah.

"Sounds good," said Chuck, and they toasted each other.

* * *

Agent Jones watched the Departures board jealously, a flight to Paris being the last before her flight to LA, as if the universe wanted to just rub it in a little harder. Either not important enough, or far too important–who can tell with Generals?–her delivery run was denied the use of a chartered transport. She wasn't meant for coach.

"Excuse me, Miss," said a man with a rough voice, dressed like a truck driver. He'd been on the phone all the way across the concourse, and he was after he'd passed her by, heading for the Paris gate. "They've loaded the casket already, and I'm boarding now…of course not, since when have I ever flown anything but first class?"

Agent Jones grabbed her bag– _Damn you, Agent Carmichael!_ –and stomped off towards her own departure gate.

* * *

Chuck could really get to hate Hannah, except she was too nice. She was also too lonely to leave him be, and with them having common interests she was a moth to his flame. He probably should have said he was in retail or something dull like that, maybe then she would have left him alone. "Why don't you think I fly first class often," he asked in response to her latest question. "Do I not look like a flies-first-class-often sort of person?"

"No, it's just that I do fly first class often," she said. "I work for a private investor. He flies me around, I fix problems for him. It's a lot of stress, but I get to travel. I live in Paris, and I have a view of the Eiffel Tower. Have you ever seen it?"

"Quite a few times," said Chuck. Did pictures count?

"Oo, fresh meat," said Hannah. "Check out Mr. Muscles over there. What do you think he does? Professional wrestler?"

Chuck turned to look at whoever she was looking at, and flashed on a Ring agent right on the plane with him. A big Ring agent. _Crap_.

* * *

One quick phone call to Castle later…

"You should have told me," said Sarah. "Us."

"This is why I didn't," said Shaw. "Chuck listens to you. If you're upset about a mid-air mission, he'll get upset about a mid-air mission."

"We can't help him now. Hugo Panzer is a master of hand-to-hand close quarters combat."

"So is Chuck."

"As long as he can control it," said Sarah. "And if he can't, everyone on that plane is dead."

* * *

Chuck sat at the bar, thankful that Miss Curious had found something else to do since takeoff, typing away industriously on her computer. He kept an eye on Mr. Panzer while pretending to do a crossword puzzle, watching as he spoke to the attendant and she came over to the bar. He got out his 'lucky pen'.

* * *

Upstairs…

Casey couldn't take it anymore. He ducked into the break room for a moment of privacy, and made a phone call. "Any update on Chuck?"

* * *

Downstairs…

"Oh, Chuck's fine," snapped Sarah, glaring at Shaw while she said it. "He's trapped in a metal tube thousands of feet above the ground, with a Ring agent already on the plane."

* * *

Upstairs, in the break room…

"You want me to kill him for you?"

 _"Who?"_

"Anybody."

The door opened, and Casey ended the call reflexively, his anger surging. Unfortunately, it was only Morgan. "Hey, John," he said mildly, unaware of his danger. "Got a second? I need a favor."

The only favor Casey felt like giving anyone was to make them shorter, and it was too late for that with Morgan. "Not interested."

"I hate to pull rank, here, John, but…" Morgan stroked his vest. "I am your superior."

John could think of a number of superiors who would serve their troops better from below ground. Morgan wasn't one of them. "What?" he asked, cracking his knuckles ominously.

Morgan sagged, his moment of confidence gone. "It's Lester, and his cabal of evil tricksters."

Now John was interested.

* * *

"It's a casket," said Chuck. Panzer was safely unconscious upstairs, and his claim ticket was clutched in Chuck's sweaty fingers. Unfortunately Chuck had wasted a lot of time looking through the luggage first.

 _"They're clever. Customs won't check the body. Open it, find the key."_

Chuck opened it, and saw a real dead guy in a suit. "That's disgusting." The key he sought was not immediately visible. What kind of ghouls set it up so they'd have to touch this?

 _"That's the job, Agent Carmichael."_

As Chuck searched the body, starting with the clothes and the pockets, the elevator went up and came down again, holding someone who cast a big shadow. Chuck didn't notice until the door opened.

* * *

Back in Castle, the phone rang again, and Sarah reached for the button.

"Don't answer," said Shaw. "He's taken care of Panzer, he'll find the key. There should be nothing up there that he needs our help with."

"And if there is?"

Shaw shrugged. "Then the last thing he needs is for us to distract him."

* * *

Chuck crouched low in the dark, as he heard the ponderous footsteps of Hugo Panzer approach the casket. He hadn't been able to close it silently. He whispered to himself, "Don't freak out."

* * *

 **A/N2** It turns out SAFE as an acronym for the Security And Firearms Exposition is not in use anywhere, so maybe I can get some royalties someday. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N Sorry.**

* * *

" _You do know Casey's a Ronald Reagan fan, right?"_

" _You know how I feel about lethal weaponry._ _"_

" _Oo, fresh meat."_

" _Don't freak out._ _"_

* * *

Hugo Panzer approached the stainless steel coffin, making sure his every step could be heard. He had tranq-head, and he hated tranq-head. Whoever was in that metal box was going to pay for that. What a stupid place to try and hide.

Chuck, hidden in the shadows between the top of the pallet and the roof of the hold, raised his watch. More important, the button on his watch that would make his phone ring. Just as soon as Panzer was in position.

Panzer stopped. It _was_ a stupid place to hide. Whoever managed to take him out couldn't be that stupid. Using the box as a trap would be smarter. He looked up, just as a phone rang from inside the box. He reached down and flipped open the lid.

Chuck wasted aprecious second looking at the button on his phone, still unpressed. By the time he jumped off the top of the pallet onto Panzer's back the box was already open.

Something hit him on the back, driving his forehead into the phone held in the hands of the dead guy in the box. The call picked up, but neither of the men in the room noticed. Chuck rolled off Panzer's broad back, slamming the metal lid down on his head, mainly to provoke the big guy. Angry men make mistakes that non-angry men don't.

Panzer stood, neither angry nor injured. "Okay, first off, said Chuck. "I really hope that isn't a relative of yours. If he was, condolences, but even if not, yeah, dead hands, I know how you feel on that one."

Panzer swung at him, but he was too slow, and Chuck dodged around him. Hugo swung his arm back, catching Chuck off-balance and pushing him down the aisle. This was bad, since it put him between the pallets, a more confined space.

Instead of pressing his advantage, though, Hugo reached into the pallet near him, giving Chuck time to look around for possible weapons. Panzer came out with a sword just as Chuck spotted the Yale Athletics bag. That really was the fencing team, have to give Hannah credit for that one, if he managed to survive this.

"I was just going to come down here and kill you," said Panzer, enjoying the upper hand, as usual. "You got me in trouble with my bosses." He raised his own watch. "My watch revived me, but it also recorded the fact that I had to be revived. Still, you got me with the drink, snookered me with the phone, and you're even holding that sword passably. You're clearly a capable agent, so I'll show you some respect. Come over here and I'll do this quick, and clean. No pain."

Chuck looked from him to the sword. Nothing. He'd done okay in his fencing classes but something told him Panzer did more than just okay.

"Come on," said Panzer, becoming annoyed. "Die like a man."

Chuck flashed, and the fight was on. He was the better swordsman, but Panzer's sword was shorter, something of an advantage in these close quarters. He started out with a more basic set of defensive moves, parries and such, but those morphed into attacks very easily, and soon he was matching Panzer blow for blow. Then he started speeding up, and Hugo couldn't match that. He tried to retreat, to disengage, but the Intersect moved to follow him, and Chuck couldn't make it stop. "Help."

Hugo parried, and punched Chuck as he did. "Help this!" He dropped the sword and fled the field. Chuck shook his head, clearing it of sword-fighting tactics as he forced his hand to open. Something struck him in the back, and he whirled.

Hugo stood behind him with a small piece of someone's luggage in his hand, swinging it like a club. "No more Mr. Nice Spy," he said.

Chuck flashed on hand-to-hand fighting skills and grabbed the small case he'd just been hit with. No good as a weapon, it was still useful as a distraction as he approached Panzer and threw it at him. Panzer chose to deflect it, leaving him open to Chuck's attack This was a mistake on his part, as Chuck fought like he fenced, slowly at first but with increasing aggressiveness over time.

Chuck began to panic, trapped inside his body as the Intersect moved it around, but he hadn't been sparring with Casey all this time for nothing. He fought his own skills, trying to bring them under control, like he'd had to do more than once in training. Panzer, larger than Casey and far more evil than Emmet Milbarge, took a lot of punishment even as Chuck slowed.

" _Bartowski!"_ shouted his phone, and Chuck seized control. And the small case, whacking Panzer with it and knocking him out.

Chuck staggered over to the open casket and pulled his phone from the dead fingers. _Ew._ He shut the casket and put his phone up to his ear. More _Ew._ "Casey," he panted. "I did it. I beat Panzer, and I beat the Intersect, thanks to you. Yay us."

* * *

Casey was seething. Sarah had nothing to say, apparently Mr. Genius super-spy had put the kibosh on talking to Chuck, but luckily he wasn't down there. He'd called Chuck on his own, and listened in on what sounded like one of those chop-socky movies that the moron liked to watch. He'd heard enough of them while on surveillance to recognize the scenario, but this had been real. Chuck's cry for help had been real, and Casey could only listen.

And yell real loud. He was good at that.

Eventually something got through, but the kid still sounded like crap when he finally picked up. Panzer was down but still alive, go team, and Chuck had the key. He finally gathered the strength to restrain Panzer, and Casey hung up to pass the news to Walker.

Now here he was, staring out at a sea of hostile Buymorian faces, his glare more pronounced than usual. Morgan made his announcement, and the new lieutenant assistant manager made his acceptance speech. "I hate insurgents."

* * *

Chuck sat at the bar, celebrating his victory. Unfortunately he was celebrating it with the wrong person, but she was the only one around. Sarah still wasn't picking up. Hannah was too perceptive by half, as well. Chuck began to wonder if maybe he'd been dealing with another agent all this time and hadn't been aware of it. So he hit her with the truth, let her try to penetrate that instead. "I work at a Buy More in Burbank. I'm just riding someone else's ticket."

Okay, mostly the truth. This ticket was his own, freely chosen.

So she tried to match him with a truth of her own, or what she claimed was the truth. That was a side of agentry he didn't like so much, that he had to clamp down on his empathy before it could get him into trouble. If true, he felt bad for her, that she had to pack up like that, but he doubted she'd be unemployed for very long.

Eventually they wandered back to their seats, where Chuck regaled her with Tales from the Buy More ™. She toasted his inventiveness, because obviously a place like that couldn't really exist, and he grabbed the drink at his seat to toast with her. He automatically took a sip of that drink, noticing the bitter almond aftertaste only on the way down.

Crap. And there's Hugo. Double crap.

"Chuck, are you okay?" asked Hannah. "You look…poisoned."

He felt poisoned. His stomach burned and he had to get away from Hugo, and maybe Hannah as well. Could they be working together? He was with her all evening, how would Panzer have gotten loose on his own? He pressed the emergency stud on his watch. They might be deep-ending him, but they wouldn't ignore that. "I'm gonna go throw up."

On his way to the bathroom he was intercepted by one of the flight attendants. "May I help you sir?"

"No," he said. "Just going to–" He stopped when she shoved a pistol practically up his nose "–write a letter of complaint to the airline." Small caliber, not enough to pierce the skin of the plane but more than enough to do him some serious damage at close range, especially with him already weakened by the poison.

"I have the antidote for the poison," she said. "I want the key."

"I have the key," said Chuck. "It's hidden in the hold."

She smirked. "Lucky for you that's where I have the antidote hidden as well. Let's go."

* * *

"There have to be two operatives on that plane," said Sarah. And her guy was alone between them.

"Yes, that was my conclusion as well," said Shaw. "I'm running identity checks on everyone in that cabin, starting with the passengers sitting next to him, and the cabin attendants."

"I'm calling him," said Sarah.

* * *

Down in the hold, Chuck welcomed the distraction when his phone finally went off. "I work for the CIA," he admitted to the woman. He figured Panzer, standing behind him, already knew. "That's my boss. I'm going to need authorization before I can hand the key over."

"On speaker," said the woman. He held out the phone, pressing the contact.

A female voice came out of the speaker. _"Chuck?"_

"Hey boss," said Chuck. "Ran into a bit of a snag on the operation."

" _How so?"_

"I poisoned him," said the woman with the gun. "Tell him to give me the key."

" _Who are you?"_

"I work for a third party," she said, "And my employer doesn't tolerate failure."

" _Then you're a dead woman."_

"How so?"

" _They'll kill you if you fail, I'll kill you if you succeed."_

The woman looked at the phone, expecting a layer of ice but not seeing one. "You have no idea–"

* * *

"I know exactly who you are, Serena," said Sarah, reading off the screen. "You used the same poison in Berlin, to kill the Syrian ambassador, and your 'third party employer' is the Ring."

" _How do you know this?"_

"Give my agent the antidote, I'll let you slide."

" _I can't. They may not be a third party but they still don't tolerate failure. Your man is going to die here, alone."_

"My man is never alone," said Sarah. "Isn't that right, Chuck?" She pointed at Shaw, and he pressed a button. The special subnetwork on Chuck's phone broadcast a special pulse, not enough to do any damage but enough to make local electronics…unhappy.

* * *

The plane fell out of the sky, a moment of distraction that a prepared agent could take full advantage of, and Chuck was prepared. The first thing to go was the antidote, and he chased after it, letting the jury-rigged netting on the luggage pallets fail on top of the two Ring agents.

He grabbed the bottle, as Serena lined up a shot, and he dove into a safe cross-aisle as she took it. "You're a terrible shot, Serena," he said. "You couldn't shoot a plane if you were standing in one." He drank the antidote.

Serena wisely dropped her gun. It shouldn't be powerful enough to damage a 747, but why take chances, and she had a better alternative. "Panzer will enjoy killing you," she said, as the plane leveled off.

Chuck stepped into view, nunchuks in hand. "Bring it."

* * *

 **A/N2** Yeah, I know it's the same gimmick I used before, but it still makes more sense than what they did. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N** Okay, the number on the case is 70453. I can't help but think that's a meaningful number, maybe someone's birthday.

I just love the way Shaw says "I do everything I can to protect my people" one episode after he left Chuck to twist in the wind against Sydney. It's really a bit of a struggle to make this stuff make sense.

* * *

" _I'll show you some respect._ _"_

" _I hate insurgents."_

" _I want the key."_

" _Bring it."_

* * *

Sarah stood and Shaw sat, listening in on the fight, since no one on Chuck's end had ended the call. "He must have gotten the antidote," said Shaw. Otherwise they'd just wait him out.

Sarah wished he'd shut up. She understood the logistics, but she couldn't hear very well. A lot of grunting and shouting came through, but if anyone was saying anything the phone wasn't picking it up. Then she heard Chuck yell, "Don't!" but without context. Don't what? Destroy the plane? They weren't home-free yet.

Moments later they heard his voice clearly. "All clear, guys. Nunchuks one, bad guys zero. You're gonna have to tell me sometime what you did to make the plane lurch like that. I'd probably be dead if not for you."

Shaw started to say something but Sarah spoke right over him. "Chuck, are you all right? You said 'don't'. Don't what?"

"Serena poisoned herself," said Chuck, sounding sad. "Said she was wanted in France." He sighed into the microphone. "I've got to start doing better. Hopefully Gonzo here knows something but what if she was running the op? We got nothing."

"You have the key, though, right?" asked Shaw anxiously.

"Yeah, I have the damn key." He hung up on them.

"That's unprofessional," said Shaw, raising a brow.

"That's Chuck," said Sarah, standing straight. She adjusted her charm bracelet on her wrist. "She's the second Ring agent to die in front of him, and the first because of something he'd done."

"You're very protective of him," remarked Shaw, as she walked around the table.

"Of course," said Sarah, sitting down at last. "We were originally a _protective_ detail, and that part of our mission hasn't changed. Our biggest problem back then was getting him to stay in the car."

He sounded doubtful. "Most spies push their assets to perform."

"Chuck never was a proper asset," said Sarah. "He insisted on performing. These skills just made that problem worse, although it looks like he's finally learning some control."

"You're welcome."

"I'm not thanking you, Agent Shaw," said Sarah blandly, "If your little ploy worked at all, and it looks like it did, congratulations, it's because Chuck was Chuck, not because you were you. You got lucky, and I will so specify in my report."

"It wasn't luck that built the pulse into Chuck's phone, was it?" said Shaw. "You may not like my training methods, Agent Walker, they may be a little too much 'tough love' for you, but I do everything I can to take care of my people."

The comment about 'tough love' burned, but Sarah wasn't called the Ice Queen for nothing. "Do you?" she said. Nunchuks, an electronic pulse, and a comm link to her seemed a little like bare bones.

"I do," said Shaw, standing up. "I lost one spy, it was my fault, and it will never happen again."

"Well, we agree on that, at least," said Sarah as he stalked away.

* * *

Serena's body went into the casket, because why not? No doubt her cover was genuine, so they would wonder where one of their flight attendants had gone, but he doubted they would look there.

He'd broken his nunchuks over Panzer's head, leaving him dazed long enough to flash on other techniques, the way Sarah had. It wasn't easy, and it gave him a bit of a headache. Eventually he wore Panzer down to the point where he could empty his tranq pen's contents directly into his mouth.

Much more effective that way.

He picked up the evidence–the pieces of his flail, Serena's gun, and the antidote bottle–and took them over to his case, putting them inside, on top of the sword and watch he'd left there the last time. Hopefully he wouldn't have to beat Panzer a third time, since there was nothing left to take off the big guy except his clothes. The room looked good to him, so now he could go back up and reestablish his cover.

The cabin was dark, everyone sleeping, including his overly-curious seatmate. There was a blanket on his chair, and he lost no time setting himself up to sleep a bit. They'd arrive at De Gaulle Airport soon enough. Hopefully they wouldn't need him to do too much else once they got there, having accomplished the whole thing in mid-air. Lying there in the semi-darkness, he held up his hand, and flashed. His hand became a weapon, but he put that weapon away and went to sleep.

* * *

Daniel Shaw was up early. The mission in Paris was over, all that remained was to contact Chuck once the plane landed and tell him to stay on it. The Paris bureau would take care of the details, working through and with the French authorities.

Motion on the monitors caught his attention.

* * *

Agent Jones walked into the Buy More, looking for the man she knew as Carmichael. She knew how tall he was, but saw no one of his stature in any part of the store. A man in a white shirt and black pants walked up to her, his nametag reading 'retseL' because it was on upside-down. "Good morning, madam, how may I …service you today?"

She gave the specified code name. "I'm looking for Chuck."

The skinny man's eyes became unfocused. "Charles Bartowski is the kindest, gentlest, most thoughtful man that I have ever known."

Agent Jones blinked at the praise. "I'm sure he is, but do you know where I can find him?"

"Patel, stop bothering the ladies," said a man with familiar gruff voice. Colonel Casey, wearing the same ugly green shirt many of the other…people in the store wore, shoved the shorter man aside. "Go talk to Grimes, he'll find something for you to do."

"Morgan Grimes is the kindest, gentlest, most thoughtful man that I have ever known," said retseL, moving off aimlessly.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Jones.

"Nothing three queens wouldn't cure," said Casey. "What have you got for me, Jones?"

Jones checked, but no one seemed to want to get too near Casey. Still, she kept her voice down. "I have a package for Agent Carmichael."

"Not here," said Casey. "He's coming back from a mission in Paris. Can you give the package to me? I'll get it to Chuck as soon as he gets back."

'Known by sight', the General had said, not 'known by name.' She wasn't about to wait until Goddamned Agent Goddamned Carmichael returned from Goddamned Paris to she could put it in his Goddamned hands. "General Beckman sent me because I would recognize the man I was supposed to give it to," said Jones. "You'll do." She reached into her bag and brought out a small box, which she placed in his hands. "Thank you."

"I'll get it to Chuck ASAP," said Casey.

Jones nodded, smiling. As long as it got her out LA sooner. "Very good."

As she left to go back to the airport, Casey turned to put the package in the most secure place he knew, his locker in the break room. From a couple of aisles over he heard Morgan say, "I don't know, go find out what Jeff is doing."

"Jeff Barnes is the kindest, gentlest, most thoughtful man that I have ever–"

"Casey!"

* * *

Many hours later, once Chuck returned…

The object on the table was familiar to all of them, a golden case retrieved some weeks back by Carina. It had been sent on long before and forgotten, in favor of more pressing concerns.

"Your key, sir," said Chuck, producing the glowing object with suitable flair.

Daniel Shaw smiled at him, taking the key. "Excellent work, Chuck. Your instructors would be proud. You've certainly impressed me."

"Thanks, Agent Shaw, but it's really Casey and Sarah who deserve the credit. They took a lot of abuse from me these last few weeks." He smiled apologetically at them. "Panzer never knew what hit him."

"Very true," said Shaw neutrally. "Well, shall we see if this key works?"

Casey pushed the case front and center, and Shaw opened it. Inside was the same circular object as before. Shaw lifted it out of the case, and Casey pushed the case away. Shaw put the disk on the table.

"They said that was some kind of weapon," said Chuck, unnerved by how casually Shaw seemed to be handling it.

"I lied," said Shaw. "Not a weapon, unless knowledge counts as a weapon. It's a lockbox. I didn't want anyone else trying to open it."

The disk had a slot on one side and Shaw inserted the key into it, causing the top of the disk to slide back. The bottom section had a rack of computer disks in it. When Shaw lifted out the rack, they saw an envelope under it.

"This box belonged to a spy we had placed in the Ring." Shaw handed the rack to Casey. "This is all the intel they had. With this we can take the war to the Ring, and ensure that one of our best didn't die in vain."

He picked up the envelope, taking it away with him. The other three looked at each other. "You two take care of that," said Sarah, pointing to the rack in Casey's hands. "I'll find out about the other thing."

She followed Shaw into the back room, where she saw him looking into the envelope. "What's in that, Agent Shaw?"

Shaw handed it to her, and she poured the contents into her hand. A wedding ring. She looked at Shaw's hand, where a matching band circled his finger.

Shaw looked down at it too. "My wife, Evelyn Shaw," he said, touching the band. "Eve." He reached up. "We both made the same mistake, Sarah, we fell in love with spies."

Sarah handed him back the envelope. "So let me get this straight," she said, her voice hard. "You sent my guy, alone, without backup, with inadequate intel, into an inescapable deathtrap, to bring you back your dead wife's wedding ring?" She gestured back at the room they'd just left, and the case they'd retrieved weeks ago. "Unless she died yesterday, what good is that intel going to do us?"

For a moment Shaw just stared at her, his face unreadable. "Your guy?"

She remained as still as if carved from a glacier. "Whatever my relationship with Chuck is, Agent Shaw, don't even pretend that you know anything about it, especially whether or not it's a mistake. So far the only mistake I'm seeing is you running an op with your wife in it. I've never heard of you, Shaw, but I'm pretty sure I would have heard about a spy stupid enough to do that."

Shaw stood up too. "Perhaps it happened while you were off grid, like you were in Lisbon a few weeks ago, even though you were supposed to remain in contact." He pulled a photo of her out of a file. "Chuck was in Prague. Why were you here?" He tapped the photo.

"You read my file?"

"I read everyone's files," said Shaw. "Chuck's not the only one who knows as much as he can about everything he can."

Sarah dismissed that with an idle wave of her hand. "Chuck never read my file, or even flashed on it. If he wanted to know something about me he would ask, he did ask, even though he knew I probably wouldn't be able to answer him."

"I'm asking."

"No, you're not, Agent Shaw, you're extorting," she corrected him. "Or trying to, at least. The answer is simple enough. I asked for, and received, permission to go to Lisbon while my partner was in training, in order to scatter my previous partner's ashes. It was the site of our first mission, but I'm sure you know that, having read my file."

Shaw sat down. "I do."

Sarah waved at the table and all the papers on it. "Then you also know that it'll take more to get me reassigned than this."

He seemed surprised. "I'm not trying to get you reassigned. I need you. Chuck needs you."

Sarah smiled. "More than that, Agent Shaw. More than that." She turned and left the room.

Daniel Shaw turned his attention to her file, and a curious half-day gap in her presence in Lisbon that he had not asked her about. "For now, Agent Walker."

* * *

 **A/N2** I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	23. Bitplayer

**A/N** Okay, back from Boskone, a sci-fi/fantasy convention in Boston. I wasn't there as an author unfortunately, just a bookseller. I need to start developing my presence in those sorts of places as an author.

Hannah's lack of a last name is going to be a bit of a problem in this version. In nine2five I got around it by making her Sarah's best friend, so calling her just Hannah worked. In this setting they need a way to keep their distance from her.

* * *

" _That's unprofessional_ _._ _"_

" _We agree on that, at least."_

" _Your guy?"_

" _For now, Agent Walker."_

* * *

It was a bright, balmy, typical morning at the Buy More. More's the pity.

There were some differences. Morgan no longer wore green, he wore the yellow shirt and grey vest of the Assistant Manager, in many ways, especially those where Big Mike was the manager, the real ruler of the store. And his Praetorian Guard Casey, safe to have in that position because he didn't want to be anyone's Praetorian Guard, and the sooner Morgan had a firm grasp on the reins the happier he would be to hand them over.

If the rest of the crew found Casey's firm hand oppressive, they weren't saying so. Lester wasn't fomenting rebellion _today_ , at least, nor did he mumble to himself at odd moments. Jeff, taking the lead for once, had taken him to a club and introduced him to three queens, so he was almost completely back to normal, but normal for Lester was a sliding scale.

Chuck sat at the Nerd Herd desk, nothing to do this early in the day, staring at his little statue of the Eiffel Tower that his dad had made for him years ago, comparing it to the real thing. He'd seen that recently and the memory was fresh, but not the memory he wanted to have. At least it was cleaner than the memory he might have had, if Agent Shaw hadn't called him at the last minute to bring him back home. There was a person he wanted to see the Eiffel Tower for the first time with, and Hannah wasn't her.

"Hey, Chuck," said Morgan, positioning himself by the desk as he always had. Some things never changed. "The old Buy More's just humming along today," he said proudly.

"Ready for the Russians," agreed Chuck.

"Who'd have thought?" rumbled Casey.

"Who'd have thought things could change so much?" said Morgan. "The store feels different, _I_ feel different…Hold the presses!" he shouted, not sure what presses were or why anyone would or wouldn't be holding them. "It's Lana Lang."

A tall redhead? Not Carina, Morgan would have recognized her. "Lana Lang, Lana Lang," said Chuck in a sing-song fashion, standing up to get a glimpse. "Lannity, lannity, Lana–" He dropped his statue.

Hannah waved at him. Short, brunette Hannah from Paris was waving at him here in Burbank. What the hell was _she_ doing here?

"Hi, Chuck," she said.

* * *

Casey had to hand it to the kid. His smile may have been weak, his wave a little jerky, but he rose to the occasion. "Huh?"

"Chuck, what's wrong with you?" said Morgan, but Casey didn't think he was referring to the pallor of Chuck's face, or the sudden sheen of sweat, and he wasn't. He smiled at the young woman instead. "Introduce us."

Chuck did his duty, even if it was just social. "Uh…Hannah, this is Morgan, assistant manager of the Buy More. Morgan, this is Hannah, but her friends call her Hannah."

Hannah had a card out, sheer habit, and Morgan clasped her fingers lightly as he took it. "Well, I hope you'll think of me as a friend too, Hannah." He looked at the card. "IT and computer security consultant?"

"I'm in between permanent gigs at the moment," she said. She looked at Chuck like there was something else she'd like to be between.

Morgan looked interested, in more ways than one, and she wasn't trying to look aloof, at least not about the job. Chuck tried to seize the reins of this train wreck before it carried him to the bottom of Bartowski Ravine. "She's completely overqualified."

"So are you, now that you have that Stanford degree," said Morgan. "If she wants to spend some of her time here who am I to say no."

"It's only a livable wage if you live in a closet."

"I've got money," said Hannah. "It's not a dream job, but I just really wanted to see about…this place. You made it sound so…special."

"What's the matter, Bartowski?" said Casey, who couldn't care less about Morgan's love life except when it suited his purposes. "I'd almost think you didn't want Mr. Grimes to extend an offer of employment to this fine and talented young woman. I know if a lady like her followed _me_ from the ass end of nowhere to my place of business I'd want to keep her close."

"Well," said Chuck, catching his drift, and realizing every person standing at the Nerd Herd desk was frowning at him. "That's true, her being here does indicate a certain…special…and anyway it's really Morgan's call."

"Yes, and thank you for remembering that detail," said Morgan.

"Bored now," said Casey. "I'm gonna get a yogurt. Come on Bartowski, you know I hate to eat alone." He grabbed Chuck's arm and walked off, pulling the younger man behind him.

"The most important meal of the day," said Chuck as he went.

"Be prepared to give her a proper Chuck Bartowski tutorial when you get back," said Morgan. He gestured toward his office. "This way, Hannah."

* * *

At the Orange Orange…

"Hey guys," said Sarah when they came in, polishing the clean counter, just to look busy. "How's _your_ day been?"

"Well," said Chuck, "It's had a bit of a déjà vu-ish quality about it lately…"

She stopped polishing, wondering what had come back around. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Casey decided to translate. "Remember Chuck's seatmate from the Paris trip? She just walked into the Buy More and asked for a job." He turned the sign on the door to Closed.

Sarah tossed the rag into the sink. "Why would she do that?" She headed into the freezer, and Castle. They had to call this in, get a full work-up on this suddenly-very-interesting person started at Langley.

"Don't look at me," said Chuck.

"Unfortunately we sort of have to, Bartowski," said Casey. "The only thing that connects her to this place is you. You had to go and tell her where you really worked?"

"Hey, I said Buy More, I didn't tell her which one," said Chuck, annoyed. "Credit me with a little intelligence."

"That's about all I _do_ credit you with, moron."

"Something brought her here, you two," said Sarah, as the door to Castle cracked open. "And we're going to have to go over Chuck's report of the flight with a fine-toothed comb until we find out what it was."

* * *

The next day…

"Hey, Chuck," said Morgan, positioning himself by the desk as he always had. Some things never changed. "The old Buy More's just humming along today," he said proudly.

"Wow," said Chuck, "And here I thought yesterday was a déjà vu sort of day." That reminded him, and he picked up his statue from where it had fallen.

"Why would you think that, Chuck?" said Morgan absently, watching the door. "Hey, there she is."

Chuck looked toward the door and dropped his statue again. "Oh dear." Hannah, in a black and white Nerd Herder's uniform. In this store. He looked around. Already the crew was grinding to a halt. Staring.

"Morning guys," she said, as if she'd worked there for years.

"Right on time," said Morgan happily. He looked around, noticing both the stasis and the salivation, and his bright smile dimmed. He whirled and whispered at Chuck, "Remember, keep her secret, keep her safe."

"A little bit late for that, buddy," said Chuck faintly, wishing he had his body armor.

* * *

Not a déjà vu day, after all. Most days Chuck wasn't glad for Casey's subtle intervention, but this time he couldn't wait to feel that vise-like grip on his arm, that animalistic growl of 'yogurt time'.

"What's the matter, Bartowski?" asked Casey as they crossed the lot. "Usually you resist more."

"You did see that piece of raw meat Morgan just handed me?" said Chuck, pointing back the way they'd come. "Talk about an untamed wilderness."

"What are you worried about, Jack Hanna, it's not like you want her there," said Casey. "And it's a good test. If she's a normal girl she'll be out any second, running for her life."

They paused, looking back. No fleeing damsel.

"Nuts!"

* * *

" _Where's Shaw?"_ asked Chuck as he entered the main room.

" _He's in DC,"_ said Sarah. _"Somebody must have read my report."_

That was her cue. She hit the button and lit up their screen. "Special Agent Shaw's affairs are none of your concern," said General Beckman, primly and properly. "In his absence, we have a small matter to be dealt with, a sum of money transferred from a Ring account to a civilian one. For now, you will deal with the civilian, develop him as an asset, and find out what he's doing for the Ring." She transmitted the files. "Regarding the matter you dropped in our laps yesterday, we have no new information to report. This woman's cover story, if it is a cover story, is perfectly borne out by the facts gathered so far. Keep her there and gather more information, and we will be doing the same on our end." She left them to it.

* * *

"Manoosh Depak," said Agent Bartowski. "A computer engineer at MIT." His eyebrows rose in respect.

"Dropped out after his freshman year," said Casey. "A classic Geek tragedy."

"Chuck didn't quit," said Sarah, bristling at the implied dig.

"It's a point of entry," said Chuck, smoothing her ruffled feathers. "Not a card I'd want to play right off the bat, and it doesn't look like I'll have to. They fried his computer, he'll need new hardware, and it looks like we have the only hard drives for thirty miles. Not very subtle, are they?"

"No, but they get the job done. Look who just entered the store," said Casey, bringing up the feed. "Get over there and sell him something."

* * *

Sarah watched as Chuck raced up the stairs and out of the Orange Orange. "I hope he's up to it," she said. "It's never easy."

"They have a lot in common," said Casey.

"That's what I'm worried about."

* * *

Chuck ran back to the store, but as he walked in he saw that he could have strolled. Nearly everyone in the place was standing around watching the Jeff and Lester show, guest starring Hannah, the new girl. She had Jeff bent backwards over the Nerd Herd desk, because she kept coming and he had no place to go. "I am a _delicate flower_ , Goddammit, and you two had better pray you don't hurt my feelings!"

"Yes, ma'am," yelled Jeff, then "No, ma'am," just to be safe.

Chuck looked around and spotted his target, standing in the hardware section, but watching in awe. He walked up next to him and said admiringly, "Glad I'm not in his shoes."

"She's awesome," said Manoosh.

"It's her first day," said Chuck.

Less awe, more terror. "Oh."

"Yeah," laughed Chuck. "Damn right, 'oh'. I'm all for looking for a place to hide, I don't know about you."

"You are the kindest, gentlest, most thoughtful woman that I have ever known," shouted Lester from somewhere behind the desk, invisible from their side.

"Casey!" said Morgan, flinging open his door.

"Not him," said Chuck loudly. He pointed. "Her."

"Oh." Morgan took one look at the frozen scene, Hannah demented, Jeff bent backwards and Lester on the floor, both pleading with their eyes. He smiled at her. "Well, that's all right then." He went back into his office and closed the door.

"Hiding sounds good," said Manoosh, backing away.

"Let's go," said Chuck, pointing at the hardware section, by completely random chance. "I'll pretend to sell you something until she's gone."

* * *

 **A/N2** When you're small you either get fierce or get trampled, and Hannah didn't seem like the sort to get trampled. Plus I didn't want to make her out to be quite the dynamo she was in my last story. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N** This was a pretty long section in canon, so I'm cutting out some parts for later.

* * *

" _Hold the presses!_ _"_

" _A bit of a déjà vu-ish quality about it."_

" _A classic Geek tragedy."_

" _That's all right then."_

* * *

Devon was reading a journal article about kidney disease. Not usually his thing, but everything that had a heart also had a kidney, and sometimes a problem with one indicated a problem in the other. He flipped the page.

"Aah!" Something banged in the kitchen.

"El?" he asked, tossing the journal on the table. "You okay?" He got up from the couch and went into the kitchen, where she was supposed to be putting groceries away, except she wasn't. She was holding that frying pan like she had that final night, when Chuck came in disguise and took that Ring thingie away.

"Yes, Devon, I'm fine," she said firmly, setting the skillet down.

"'Cause you don't _seem_ fine," he continued, as if she hadn't spoken. He'd done his best then, and most nights since, to re-orient her focus, so to speak, but it didn't seem to be working long-term.

"I know," she said, stepping toward him. He opened his arms and she took refuge there. "I was at the store, just getting some onions, and I looked up and there was a guy looking at me, and I thought, 'what if that's one of them?'"

"'Them'?"

"Those guys, the ones in black," she said into his shirt pocket. "I'm being silly, I know…"

"No, you're not," said Devon. "You have a perfectly normal anxiety. Something new, strange, and dangerous entered our lives, and you have no way of knowing if it'll ever leave again. It probably has, though, it's not like we're doing anything to keep 'them' interested." He hated saying it, but at least it was true. Chuck-true. True but not true. That little spy adventure had been his, not Chuck's, and it was well over, but he couldn't exactly say that to Ellie. She'd want to know how he knew, and the first word out of his mouth would be something stupid-but-true, like 'conspiracy', so, best for her not to ask those questions.

He sighed, knowing she would take even that the wrong way, and ashamed of himself for letting her take it that way. He'd gone from handling his wife to 'handling' her, and he didn't like the change, didn't want to live in Chuck's world anymore. He had to, though, even if only a little bit. He had to know that Chuck was doing something, like that overnight a few days ago, so that he could make sure Ellie noticed nothing. "That guy in produce was probably just seeing the most beautiful woman on the planet, like I did, and I'm not hiding the fact that I love you." That much at least was completely, totally true, and they clung to it as much as they held to each other.

* * *

At the Buy More...

Hannah was about to lose her mind. This guy Chuck was driving her crazy.

He was barely civil on the plane, okay, she could live with that. They'd only just met, so she tried one of her favorite ice-breakers on him, the guess-the-passenger game, and he was good! She was better, of course. They really were the Yale Fencing club, she saw that in the debarkation lounge, but he wasn't there to celebrate her victory with her. She would have liked to celebrate with him, something bright for those dark days.

She'd told him about those, right after he'd finally opened up to her, and she thought they really had a connection. Too bad about that stomach bug or whatever it was kept him in the bathroom so long. She'd gone to sleep alone, and woke up the next day a little sore. He'd come back in the night, and she'd somehow ended up curling toward him, but you were really supposed to lie flat in those airplane seats.

A trip to the Eiffel Tower would have been just the thing, for her and for him too, she'd have made sure of that. He'd been so enthusiastic, a dead giveaway, but then that damned phone call kept him on the plane! What a waste, but he'd been admirably stoic about it. She was sure he'd been going to say something else, but that call took all the fire out of him, and his goodbye had been cool and professional, like hers.

He was so odd, so hot and cold, and today was another of his cold days. She'd seen a flare of… something…in his eyes when she walked in, but then that big guy dragged him out for yogurt of all things. How do you get that big eating yogurt? By eating a lot of it, apparently, since he'd dragged Chuck out for more the very next day. He must live on the stuff.

At least Chuck came back in time to see her destroy those two toads, but again he wasn't there to celebrate her victory with her, selling some hardware to a customer. They'd talked forever, in the aisle, at the checkout, you'd think they were best buds or something, but the manager had already said _he_ was Chuck's best bud. They'd probably still be chatting if the customer hadn't seen her coming and bolted out the door. What was _that_ all about?

She took a step closer, and then, just then, Chuck's phone rang. Ergh!

The call was short, but that didn't help. Chuck headed over to find Casey, and together the two left the store at a run. More yogurt?

"Hey, Hannah," said Morgan, out of his office at last. "How's it been going on your first day?"

"Terrific," she said, shoulders slumping.

"Chuck around?"

"Yogurt."

"No Bartowski tour?" Morgan looked around, but no vultures appeared to be circling this harmless little muffin. Okay, then. "Well, we don't really need Chuck for this. Come with me, and I'll show you how it runs myself."

* * *

Casey waited until they were under cover, inside the yogurt shop. "Alright Bartowski, what have you got?"

"I was doing great with Manoosh until Hannah spooked him, but he wants to hang out later."

"Good job, Chuck," said Sarah, leading the way into Castle as always. "He likes you, he trusts you."

"Of course he does," said Casey, covering their six, as always. "They're two geeks in a geek pod. You got that receipt?"

Chuck handed it over so Casey could pull Manoosh's financials. "We do have a lot in common."

"Keep on going as you are," said Sarah. "Don't come on too strong, don't make advances."

"You made advances," said Chuck. He knew the theory, but hadn't thought about how her technique differed until now. "Left me your card. You even called me."

"I was under time pressure," said Sarah. "I didn't have time to wait for you to talk yourself into it, or Morgan."

"Plus you're sort of the poster girl for coming on strong," said Chuck, writing down the name of the place Manoosh would meet him at for Sarah. "Or haven't you looked in a mirror lately? I thought it was the luckiest day of my life."

"Kind of odd that they wasted her on you," said Casey, building an unfortunate picture of their mark from his shopping habits. "They don't use the blondes on just anyone, and you hadn't dated anyone in years."

"Not years," said Chuck. "Okay, yes, years. I admit it, I was pathetic."

Sarah smiled. "You were sweet. I said I liked you, and I did. We connected like they hoped we would, and you took charge, like you were supposed to."

The restaurant and the band, just before the chasing and the bombs. "Wait, does that mean you really did have a favorite band?"

"No," she said sadly. "A lot of what I allowed you to see that night was true. That made it much harder, for a while."

"Time," said Casey when his alarm beeped. He'd programmed the average time it took someone to eat a bowl of the yogurt into his watch, not a long interval, it was terrible stuff. They'd go back to work while Sarah used her copious spare time to plan the surveillance.

* * *

In the Buy More…

"…and here is storage closet number two–hi, Skip–very popular with smokers, since there's a draft by that pipe." He turned back to the tall, skinny, Nerd Herder. "How long has it been, Skip?"

Skip looked at Hannah. "Five, Mr. Grimes, sir."

"There are worse bosses than me, Skip."

"Yes, sir." Skip left the room, and they followed after him. "And that's the tour," said Morgan.

"Wow, you must know every bolt-hole in this place," said Hannah, trying to sound impressed. It wasn't really hard, she just took her reaction to his complete control of his people and attached it to different words.

Morgan smiled. "In my old days, I discovered most of them, part of my work-avoidance program. Comes in handy, here in my new days."

"Old days?" asked Hannah.

"I was a slacker greenshirt once upon a time," admitted Morgan. "Then Chuck said to me 'follow your heart, your head will only get you into trouble.' And I did, well, not right then, but eventually. Followed it right to Benihana training school, my dream job." He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking down at the floor. "Couldn't cut it, came back here."

"So your dream job wasn't your heart job," Hannah said.

He shrugged.

"And your heart job and your head job both seem to be the same thing," she continued. "Is there any rule against that?"

Morgan lifted his head. "No, I guess there isn't." He smiled at her. "How'd you get to be so smart?"

* * *

At the Nerd Herd desk…

Chuck was entering yet another fake install when Jeff and Lester crept into view. "Might we be allowed to speak with you, please, Mr. Bartowski, sir?" whined Jeff.

Chuck kept the desk between him and them. "What's the matter with you?"

"Her!" choked Lester, looking around. "That devil woman."

"You've been watching too many Disney flicks again…"

"She doesn't belong here, Chuck," said Jeff. "We think she's a spy."

" _He_ thinks she's a spy," said Lester. "I'm still leaning toward demoness."

Interesting. Useful. And possibly entertaining. "Why would you think that?"

The two flipped out their notebooks. "We're glad you asked," said Lester.

* * *

Later that night…

"Okay, Operation Dream Date commencing."

" _Gee, thanks, Casey."_

"Don't mention it." Casey toggled the microphone off. "What are you gonna do with all that guacamole we stole?" he asked his van-mate. "Some new, even more horrible yogurt concoction?"

"Hey, great idea, Casey." Sarah didn't write anything down. They sat there for a few minutes listening to their partner and his mark discuss the merits of their favorite comic books.

Casey turned the sound down. "You know, Walker, we got really lucky."

Sarah watched the two of them, wondering what words went with all the gestures. "Yes."

"Don't you want to know why?"

"Why?" she asked dutifully.

"That the Intersect went to the right nerd." He tapped the monitor. "Can you imagine having to babysit _that_ guy?"

Sarah looked at the monitor. "Yes. Yes I can." Chuck, looking so cheerful. "It's going to be bad."

* * *

" _Guys, he's got a Ring phone."_

Casey activated the tracking module, and the answer came back far too quickly. The Ring was close, and getting closer. He hit the mike. "Sarah's on her way to seal the deal." She took the hint and got out of the van.

" _What? Why?"_

"The Ring's on its way. You're doing fine but slow and steady will lose this race. We need her to do to him what she should have done to you."

* * *

 _Poor Manoosh._ Having been on the receiving end of Sarah's practiced smile, Chuck knew exactly how he felt. He was pretty sure he'd handled it better, though, Jill and Bryce had been good for that much at least. Manoosh had nobody except him.

It was kind of weird playing wingman to both sides, but with the Ring on its way he had no time to play favorites. Manoosh really needed it, too. Sarah was coming on stronger than usual, and the poor guy looked ready to melt. Sarah leaned in close, brushed her lips against Manoosh's, and hit him with the tranq as she did.

The lady behind the bar saw the mark collapse and held out her hand toward some of the patrons at the other end of the bar. "Pay up, suckers." To the two hustlers she simply said, "Whatever your game is, play it outside," pointing to a door. As the cons hustled their mark out the side, she pushed the plate of leftover nachos down the bar (waste not, want not) and flashed a bright smile at the suits that came in the front.

* * *

The next day…

Chuck looked through the mirror at Manoosh's sleeping form as Sarah came through the door, pulling on a robe. "You were going to do this to me?"

"Pre-date, probably," said Sarah. "Post-date, definitely would've bumped it up to a number eight."

"Must have been a good date," said Casey.

Chuck and Sarah shared a smile. "We liked it." He watched as Manoosh started to twitch. "How many times have we done this?"

"Not as many times as we need to," said Casey, reloading his dart gun.

"They're Twilights, Chuck," said Sarah.

"'No permanent damage', yeah, I know," said Chuck. "Wait, if we've given him a number seven five times, is that like giving him a number thirty-five once?"

Casey didn't bother to answer. "He's up."

Chuck put up a hand. "He's my asset, let me take care of this." Casey put down the gun, and they watched as Manoosh found his clothes and his phone but not his briefcase. From a pants pocket he pulled out a card, the Buy More card Chuck had given him yesterday, and before long Chuck's phone was ringing.

* * *

The world's best wingman stood by a display rack at the Buy More, a shiny briefcase at his feet. He was waiting for a man, and a man appeared. "Dude," said Devon, once he located Chuck standing someplace other than behind the counter. "You gotta help me. Ellie's freaking out about that whole men-in-black thing, and I don't know what to do."

"Don't worry, Devon," said Chuck. "I have a plan." He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, a baggage claim check from a flight to Paris. "Take this to my place. Crumple it up and throw it in my wastebasket, right on top. Once you've done that, I'll call Ellie, tell her I'm working late, and ask her to get my laundry from the machine when she gets back."

Devon took the ticket. "I don't get it. You want her to see this?"

"She doesn't need to see it, she needs to _find_ it. Right now she's lightning in search of a rod." Chuck pushed his hand down. "I'm giving her a rod."

Devon put the claim check in his pocket. "But all that'll do is make her worry about you."

"Yeah, but she'd used to that."

"I can't believe you'd lie to your sister like this."

Chuck looked insulted. "I'm not lying, I'm telling the truth in advance of Reality." He patted Devon on the shoulder. "Baby steps, Devon. By the time we get there, Reality will have caught up, and we'll have Ellie back on the ground again."

"I hope so." Devon stumbled a bit on his way out.

"And he's on his way." He checked the time. "This had better work."

" _Don't worry, Bartowski. I've seen this a million times. They need to do something, or at least think they are. Your mark's at the door."_

Chuck looked up, and waved. "Over here."

* * *

A few minutes later, down in Castle…

Chuck came down the stairs from the break room entrance. "What'd I miss?"

"Boy Wonder up there turned around and went back into the store the second your back was turned," said Casey.

Chuck watched the footage replay. "Crap."

"Don't pout, it wasn't about you." On the screen a couple of men with 'Thug' stamped on their foreheads entered the store. "Your boy's going out the back." He switched to that monitor.

They watched as Manoosh got blocked in by a car, and a new bunch of thugs got out. The guy in charge said something, but the mikes had the sensitivity turned down, and the team in Castle couldn't hear it.

"He's not afraid," said Sarah, watching Manoosh flap his arms around. "He's just pretending."

"He's going for the case," said Chuck.

"Whatever he made, the idiot's got it with him." They watched as Manoosh got out his weapon. "Ha. Glasses. Told you so."

"If I remember correctly, we all came to that conclusion together," said Sarah, watching Manoosh wipe out his opposition.

"Yeah, but I said it first. He moves a lot like you, Bartowski."

Sarah shook her head. "Not as smoothly, you can see where Chuck's made a lot of improvement. And it looks like he's only got one set of skills." Which was enough to get him out of the loading bay, sans phone.

"Wish we could so something about these losers," said Casey. They still had time to tranq them, otherwise they'd wake up again in a minute or two.

"What do you think this is, Casey," said Chuck. "A secret government base?"

"That's not a priority," said Sarah. "But we've got Manoosh bugged, so don't worry. If those guys are any good at all, you'll have your chance."

* * *

 **A/N2** That lady bartender seemed like a nice person in canon, I'm not very happy to make her so cold-blooded in this story. But really, who let's a couple of total strangers carry out an unconscious customer like that? I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N** This whole canon episode was sort of front-loaded, so my last chapter had an awful lot of stuff in it, while these next chapters will probably be a bit light. All they really do here is the Weap-Con stuff. I'll do what I can with that.

* * *

" _You don't_ seem _fine._ _"_

" _He likes you, he trusts you."_

" _We got really lucky."_

" _You'll have your chance."_

* * *

"Okay," said Casey, as they gathered around the table. They had to figure out what to tell the General before they could tell the General anything. If it really wasn't what they thought it was he'd rather they figure that out themselves than have some labcoat at Langley do it for them. "First things first. What was that?"

"It looked like an Intersect upload to me," said Chuck, who was, admittedly, no expert on what those looked like from the outside. He opened up his laptop to review the footage.

"At least one skill set," added Sarah. "I don't know how we could tell if there was any data involved, beyond what he needed for that skill set."

"True," said Chuck. "I guess I was assuming."

"Understandable," said Casey. "Just don't do it again. Think like a spy. What are you seeing, not what you think you're seeing. This guy's got minimal coordination, almost no muscle mass to speak of…"

"He was pretty sloppy with those nachos," said Chuck, nodding absently.

"Exactly. Most people can handle moving food from plate to mouth better than that. But then we see him put on a pair of glasses very much like ours and suddenly he's a kung-fu expert." Casey looked at his partners. "What are the odds he's always been a kung-fu expert, and he's been playing us this whole time?"

"Not high," said Sarah, their own resident mistress of martial arts. "An expert with that level of control would have been practicing longer than the subject has been alive. Given that parameter, he'd have had to have been in training for this since he was out of diapers. Not to mention we've all seen him in his skivvies." She shuddered.

"Minus time spent at MIT, minus time spent on video games, I don't see that happening," said Casey, who didn't shudder, but also hadn't had to lie in bed next to the guy.

"I'm seeing lots of activity from the lenses when he put the glasses on," said Chuck, staring closely at his monitor. "Langley should be able to verify if it's Intersect-type activity."

Casey popped up his own screen and keyboard. "I'll get started with a report for the General. Let them worry about that while we go after the little weasel. Send me that file with your notes. Sarah–"

Casey's station on the board made a beeping sound, and Sarah got up to check it out. "We've got activity on the subject's credit card."

"What did he say his IQ was again?" asked Casey, still typing. This Manoosh character may know everything in his world but he lived in a pretty small world.

Sarah must have missed that part. "Enough to buy a ticket to Dubai."

Casey smiled, Chuck frowned. "What's in Dubai?"

"A convention that's as much fun for me as Cyber-SAFE would have been for you," said Casey. He sent a link to Chuck's machine, and Chuck clicked it. "Weap-Con. I go every year, very relaxing."

"I didn't get to go to Cyber-SAFE," said Chuck, staring at the odd juxtaposition of bikini-clad women and heavy weaponry. "It scares me that you have this link so ready-to-hand."

"And I'm very broken up about that Chuck, really I am," said Casey mildly. "I probably won't be able to do any practice shooting, through all the tears."

"You probably won't be able to do any practice shooting through all the reports," said Sarah. "This is official government business, not a vacation."

The disintegration of Casey's happy grin was a terrible thing to see. "Nuts!"

* * *

Someone knocked on Morgan's office door. "Come in."

The door opened, and Hannah was there. "Got a second, boss?" she asked, before her ears caught up with her mouth. "Is that Swan Lake?" Somehow she didn't think classical music was Morgan's default mode.

"Yeah," he said. "You said you liked it, so I'm giving it a try." For a second she looked touched. Then he kept talking. "What's the deal with all the numbers? Why call it number four four instead of number seven, or whatever it is?"

She smiled. At least he was trying. "Did you try googling it?"

"Of course not," he said, shocked. Then, "Yes. Yes, I did, but I don't speak French."

"None of you do, it's pathetic," she said with a laugh, and he laughed with her. "It sounds like you should have gone on that Paris install instead of Chuck."

Morgan stopped chuckling. "The what?"

"The Paris install," she said again. "Rich client, sends him to Paris and changes his mind before Chuck can even get off the plane?" She stopped there, not sure what to make of the variety of expressions that played across his face. "Sorry, I know I wasn't supposed to talk about it, but you probably know everything anyway."

"Oh," said Morgan, in a tone of great enlightenment. " _That_ Paris install." He smiled, waving a hand. "I was busy that day."

"Wow, that's…generous."

"He'd do the same for me. That's what being a best bud is all about." Morgan cleared his throat. "Look, um, Hannah, is there something you wanted to see me about?"

It took her a second to get her boggled mind back on track. "Uh, yeah, Skip asked me to ask you for the shrink wrapper?" She pronounced those words as if they were a foreign language of their own.

"What? Oh, yeah, sure. It's over there, by the player."

She looked where he pointed and saw a small machine next to the case for the Swan Lake CD. She gathered it up, along with the roll of plastic. "Thanks, boss."

He looked up as she opened the door. She smiled at him, and he smiled back automatically. He didn't notice as she left. Chuck was in _Paris_?

* * *

The shortest commercial flight time from LA to Dubai is just short of sixteen hours. When pursuing a man with technology in his pocket that could easily destabilize the power structure in one of the most volatile regions of the world, Federal Agents could move a little faster than that. Which put them on the ground ahead of him, but still waiting on proper intelligence before they could make their move. Weap-Con was the most likely destination, and they prepped that way, but that was only a best guess. A smart man might have a direct client sale ready to complete, and a patron after that, with no one the wiser. Sarah watched arrivals, Chuck pulled up floor plans for the arena where the show was being held, and Casey, as always, prepared his weapons, when his phone rang.

The call was brief, but useful. "It's not an Intersect," Casey said when it was done. "Whatever Orion did to destroy the 2.0 didn't damage the skill components as badly, since he didn't make those. Some of those circuits have disappeared from storage, and most likely Manoosh reverse engineered his glasses from them. Unfortunately for him, he knew what he had."

Chuck thought back to Manoosh's blithe dismissal of his Ring contacts, in the bar. "But he doesn't know what he doesn't have."

* * *

Morning in Dubai is nighttime in LA, and Ellie was on her way home. As her brother had requested, she stopped off at the laundry room to pick up his stuff. His apartment was empty, even Morgan was out somewhere, so she used her own key and went in. Her original intention was just to leave the stuff on his bed, but her maternal instincts/reflexes took over, and before she knew it she was put his folded clothes away for him.

An empty paper coffee cup sat on his desk, spoiling the order and symmetry of his workspace. Her brother, what a slob. She picked it up and went looking for the wastebasket.

* * *

In the end, they were too late. Weap-Con was held in a very large space, but even so the tanks had to be parked outside. Inside the place was jammed, display spaces showing off light, portable, and semi-portable weaponry, patrons for whom death-dealing devices were essentially sex toys and patrons for whom they were not, and hucksters trying to tell them apart and pitch their spiel accordingly.

Casey kept falling behind.

It didn't help that Manoosh's attendance at the event wasn't part of the program, so none of them knew where to find him. Then they heard loud laughter coming from a closed off demonstration area. "That'll be him," said Casey, shoving a receipt into his pocket in spite of Sarah's best efforts to keep him on track. "He'll be counting on them underestimating him, that's his selling point. 'Buy my glasses and make an army in a week', that sort of thing."

"Every small nation will want them," said Sarah, free to think about strategy instead of tactics now that they were in motion.

"Operative word being small," said Casey. "And of course the big ones won't want to turn around and find their neighbors suddenly walking on stilts."

"Does he even know what kind of a feeding frenzy he's starting?" asked Chuck. Casey was a good man, motivated by patriotism, and whatever touches of human kindness he could pass off as patriotism. If he saw this future, so could the men in that room, and they were inspired mostly by greed.

"Doubt it," said Casey. _Amateurs._ "Might solve our problem, though."

Chuck bristled. "He's _my_ asset–"

Sarah put a hand on Chuck's shoulder, speaking quietly and forcefully over both of them. "He's of more use alive, and that's how we'll take him. Understood?"

"Understood," said Casey. "Although from the look of things in there, a bullet from me would be a mercy."

Sarah didn't look at Chuck. "Last resort."

Casey didn't either. "Fine."

* * *

Backstage…

"Okay," said Casey. "We've got five minutes before anyone's gonna be missing this guy. Plenty of time."

"I hope so," said Chuck. "I don't know that I've ever been blessed with the gift of gab, except, you know, in a sort of keep-talking-til-they-surrender sort of way…"

"Shut up," said Casey, as Manoosh came into the room, heading straight for the tower of nachos. He started chowing down on the chips, deafening himself. Casey kept his voice down. "Do the job and don't get soft. Remember I'm always behind you if you do."

"Chuck, remember," said Sarah, giving Casey a bit of a dirty look. "The only way any of us will be safe, _including_ Manoosh, is for us to bring him in. He may not have the freedom you were given–"

"But it's a hell of a lot better than what he'll get from one of those warlords out there."

"I can control him," said Chuck. Somebody had to, and it seemed like he was the only one who had Manoosh's welfare in mind.

"Then do it. Time's up."

Chuck stepped out of concealment, and Manoosh noticed, running for the exit, but Chuck easily got there first. Manoosh's fear was replaced by surprise when he recognized the visitor. "Chuck?"

"Hi, Manoosh," said Chuck. "I'm here to protect you, to stop you from making a horrible mistake, although it seems you've already made it, so now I can only try to pick up the pieces, and hope that you aren't one of them." He took a breath. "We know about the glasses."

"Who's 'we'?"

"Oh, sorry, I guess I should have led with that," said Chuck. "I'm your friend, but I'm also with the CIA."

"The CIA?" Manoosh looked around, alittle late, for whatever agents had him surrounded. "You tracked me, tricked me? This whole friendship thing was fake?"

"No, Manoosh, I tracked you because this whole friendship thing is real," said Chuck, waving his comrades out of hiding. Casey's gun was still out, but at least not aimed. "Y the Last Man really is my favorite graphic novel, you think some Fed could simply fake that?"

"And that," said Manoosh, pointing rather insultingly at Sarah, "Was that real?"

"Uh, no, Manoosh, that was fake, sorry," said Chuck. "What? I'd never ask someone to do that, it's disrespectful, and she'd beat the crap out of me just for suggesting it."

"Got _that_ right," muttered Casey.

"So you cheapen our friendship," said Manoosh summarizing at ever higher volume. "Outright lie to me about my biggest score _ever_ , and now you want to take away my money too?"

"Don't you get it, Manoosh?" said Chuck. "Those glasses will throw this whole region, maybe even the world, into chaos."

"You want to know something else my glasses have going for them, Chuck?" Manoosh dodged around Chuck with unexpected agility. "Long shelf life."

Manoosh plunged through the curtains, Team B hot on his heels, right into the crosshairs of the Ring team Manoosh had left behind him at the Buy More.

* * *

"Thank you, Manoosh," said the Ring leader as his men disarmed the team of agents. "Your demonstration was very effective."

"You wanted me to be here?"

"Why do you think we wanted them ourselves?" said the boss. "We can destabilize this whole area, and make a nice profit doing it, especially now that we don't need you anymore. We would never have paid you, you know, any more than those people outside would. You're debris. Give me the glasses."

"I tried to tell you," said Chuck.

Manoosh took the glasses out of his pocket and dropped them, crushing them under his heel. "Oops."

The man sighed. "As you wish." His gun pointed lower down. "A _painful_ death."

"Uh. Mister Ring Bad Guy," said Chuck, raising his hand. "Before you kill him slowly, do you mind if I ask Manoosh here a question?" He took a pen out of his pocket and grabbed a discarded flier, prepared to write.

"What is it?" snapped the man. Manoosh turned to look at the only man who had ever really been his friend.

Chuck flashed. "Manoosh, what's the third rule of combat?" He pressed the stud on his pen, popping out a short sharp blade.

"Um…" Manoosh's eyes bugged out. "Duck!" He dropped. Chuck threw his razor tipped knife into the Ring leader's hand, as Sarah and Casey made short work of his team.

Manoosh ran for the exit, through the crowd as Team B came out after him. Casey had a gun and he wasn't afraid to use it. "Manoosh, stop!" yelled Chuck.

"Don't worry, Chuck," said Casey. "Right behind you."

Chuck spotted a display of non-lethal weapons and pounced. In no time he had the next-gen tranq gun assembled, loaded, and aimed. With perfect accuracy he put the needle in Manoosh's back, and the smaller man crumpled to the ground a few steps from freedom.

"Congratulations," said the huckster. "You beat the fastest load and fire time on record for this little beauty. You win!" He even sounded happy about it, and why shouldn't he? His sales would double after this. "Would you like it gift-wrapped?"

* * *

 **A/N2** Why would the Ring tie them to chairs and leave them there? More efficient simply to kill them. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N** Adding the payoff to the whole Ellie subplot.

* * *

" _First things first._ _"_

" _He doesn't know what he doesn't have."_

" _Time's up."_

" _You win!"_

* * *

Devon pretended to read his magazine, sneaking glimpses over the pages at his wife, moving around the kitchen making dinner without any sign of the joy she normally took in the task. "Hey babe, what's going on with Chuck?"

"Why are you asking?" she said, marching into the living room. "What do you know?"

"You're cooking on auto-pilot, El," said Devon, putting down his magazine. "You wouldn't do that unless you're worried about something. There's nothing going on with me, so I figure it has to be Chuck."

"Did you know he went to Paris last week?"

Fortunately Devon didn't know any such thing, so he was able to be completely honest and non-sweaty when he said, "No."

"He asked me to bring his laundry back for him, and I found a claim ticket in his wastebasket," she explained. "The initials were CDG, and that's an airport in Paris."

"I'll take your word for that."

"But why wouldn't he say anything?" asked Ellie, or Devon, of the air. "He's always wanted to go, but how could he afford it?" Her eyes got wide. "I wonder if he saw the Eiffel Tower?"

"Uh, El, you kind of left the stove on," said Devon. As she went back into the kitchen to recue dinner he added, "He's your brother, just ask him."

"Nobody's over there anymore," she said. "Not even Morgan."

"Well, ask him when you see him. He'll be back," said Devon, trying to sound blasé. "It's not like he's hiding in a hole in the ground."

* * *

In a hole in the ground, named Castle…

"We have to hide him somewhere," said Sarah, watching their guest from another room. "If the Ring finds him he can build them another Intersect."

"I think the Ring has pretty much burnt their bridges with Manoosh, Sarah," said Chuck. Calling him debris while sticking a gun in his face would have had that effect with _him_ , that's for sure. Of course they could try threats and intimidation, but Chuck wouldn't want to put on any pair of glasses that resulted. He was more concerned with whatever technology Manoosh had already made. "The prototypes are gone, but we need his designs and his code, and we're not going to get those if we stick him underground."

"We need to keep him safe."

"Yes, but a secure isolation facility isn't the way to do it." Chuck waved a hand at him. "Look at the guy, his entire life is isolation. We know how well that worked. Trust me, I've got it all set up."

"I don't know," said Sarah, placing one finger on his chest. "I asked you to trust me years ago, and look how well _that's_ worked."

"Exactly." Chuck walked into the conference room where Manoosh waited.

"Chuck!" he said, rising from his chair. "Thank God you're here, I've been scared to death. When are you guys gonna spring me? I just wanna go home, forget this ever happened."

"There's a problem with that, Manoosh," said Chuck, sitting down at the table, and Manoosh sat down too. "It did happen. You can't go home."

"What do you mean?" said Manoosh, standing up again. "You gonna kill me? Bury me?"

Chuck pointed to the chair, and waited for Manoosh to sit in it. "If I was going to do that I could have done it in Dubai, don't you think? My partner was waiting and more than willing to take that shot for me. I tranqued you to prevent him from taking that shot. No, the reason you can't go home is simpler. It's the first place those guys will look for you."

"Oh."

"Damn right, 'oh'," said Chuck, reminding Manoosh of how they'd met, just a few days ago. "It wasn't a big loss for the Ring but it _was_ a loss, and your name is written all over it."

"So what do I do?" asked Manoosh. "Chuck, you have to help me."

From the General, that would have been an order. From Sarah, or Ellie, it would have been a statement of a moral imperative. From Manoosh, it was a plea. "I am helping you, Manoosh," said Chuck. "I've been helping you all along, in spite of every hole you've tried to dig for yourself. No more holes for you."

Casey walked in the far end of the room, with a couple of labcoats in tow. With a gesture and a grunt he washed his hands of them.

"Gentlemen," said Chuck, rising, "I leave him in your hands."

The labcoats sat on either side of Manoosh, their computers already open, and Chuck left the room. "On the project?" asked Sarah.

"He reverse engineered the Intersect from a burnt circuit board, Sarah," said Chuck. "If that isn't a gold-plated resume I don't know what is."

"Looks like they think so too," said Sarah. The two labcoats got up and were leaving the room with Manoosh in tow.

"Hey," said the new recruit, "You guys think we can swing by my lab and grab my stuff?" One labcoat said "Sure" while the other flashed Chuck a thumbs-up where Manoosh couldn't see it.

"Gotta hand it to you, Bartowski," said Casey. "You burned him so smoothly, he didn't even know he'd been burned. Good job." He patted Chuck on the back and walked away.

* * *

Later, in the Buy More…

Two mouths, one sentence, as Chuck and Hannah walked toward each other, one of them coming in. "What, you still here?"

"Jeff and Lester leaving you alone?" continued Chuck. They must be, their only other mode of interaction with females involved hovering.

"Haven't seen them in days," said Hannah. "I think they're hiding. Or maybe they went to Paris too."

"Wouldn't know," said Chuck, pretending to laugh. "I was in Dubai this time."

She took it as a joke. "Who makes _your_ schedule?"

"I do," said Chuck, and it was true. Technically Chuck was an independent contractor, so he could come and go as needed.

Hannah continued past him toward the exit. "Well, _my_ schedule says now is my break time, so guess where I'm going."

"Um…on break?"

"Got it in one," she said. The doors slid open. "I don't know why everyone says you're so dumb."

"Neither do I." Chuck waited a bit until she left, then shouted, "Who says I'm dumb?" right on time.

"Ah, F-Troop," said Morgan, standing behind him. "Gotta love the classics."

"I do?" asked Chuck. "Right. I do. Wouldn't have thought she'd be into it, though."

"There's a lot you don't know about our Hannah, isn't there, Chuck?"

Hannah the possible spy. How far had she gotten herself under Morgan's skin while his back was turned? "What's that supposed to mean?"

Morgan smiled, catlike, with canary feathers here and there. "Nothing." He started to walk away, then turned back. "Is there, oh, anything you wanted to say to me, Chuck?"

"No," said Chuck. "Anything you wanted to ask me?"

Morgan shook his head. "Not at all. Good talk, Chuck."

"Yeah, buddy," said Chuck to Morgan's back. "One of our best." He took one step–just one, he counted–toward the Nerd Herd desk.

The door slid open behind him. "Chuck?"

Chuck turned around, a smile on his face. His sister was walking toward him. "Hey, Ellie. What's up?"

"A couple of things," said Ellie. She lifted a hand, counting off on her fingers. "I picked up your laundry, like you asked. It's folded in your drawers."

"Ellie, I'm old enough to fold my own–"

"I threw away an old coffee cup on your desk, and oh yes, I found the ticket for Paris in your trash, Chuck." She looked at him, shades of disappointment in her eyes. "Since when did we start keeping secrets from each other?"

* * *

Casey and Sarah watched on the monitor as Chuck gave Ellie his prepared story. "You know, for a guy who couldn't lie to a bug last year, he's gotten pretty good with his nearest and dearest," said Casey. "You've been good for him, Walker."

Yes, she had, but not in the way Casey meant, and not here. "Maybe I have, but he's not lying. He's giving Reality its marching orders."

Grunt. "Not necessarily a good thing. Reality doesn't like being told what to do. What happens when he finds that out?"

"We'll get through it." Together.

* * *

In the Buy More…

Hannah, the she-demon, was gone, temporarily. Morgan, the Ass Man, remained, and Jeff and Lester dared to come out of their holes. The interview was disappointing for a pair that lived the majority of their lives vicariously. They'd been expecting the call from their noble boss, an assignment to shadow She Who They Would Not Name. His interest in her was obvious and pathetic, ripe for exploitation.

But that call never came, and so they came to call. Morgan, it seemed, was performing his own 'research', and despite their subtlest inquiries–"Did you take her to Pound Town?" and "Can I get the address?"–he had no details, or was not sharing them if he did. When he said he needed a little research done, they almost told him to do it himself, but then he told them the name of the subject of that research. Chuck Bartowski.

A challenge worthy of their mighty skills. They wouldn't be catching him out with phishing scams and keystroke loggers. He'd been disappearing from under their noses for months, ever since he hooked up with Blondie, so catching him would perhaps catch her as well. Those two would be their ultimate test, their ultimate prize. They accepted the commission gladly, their freedom to fly.

"Finally."

* * *

That night, at the Casa de Woodcombe…

"Finally." Ellie tore into the newly-arrived courier envelope, and pulled out some slips of paper.

Devon turned down the volume on his cooking show. "What's up, babe?"

"The tickets to Paris are here," said Ellie, in a voice of delight. "First Class." She showed them off to him.

He ogled them appropriately. "Wow, the Chuckster really came through, didn't he?"

Ellie unfolded a letter, and read it. "There's more. Here's the address of an apartment in the name of Hannah Something, I can't make out the last name. It's currently unoccupied and will be for the remainder of the month. Oh, Devon." She clutched the paper to her chest. "Paris."

"End of the month, huh?" said Devon, reaching out for the letter. "Then we better get cracking. I hope we can both claim that much vacation time with such short notice."

"We have to do something nice for Chuck…"

"Pictures and video of the Eiffel Tower," said Devon. "Especially the elevator, you know how much he goes on about that." Whenever anyone dared to mention the Eiffel Tower, which wasn't often. "Should keep him happy until he can get there himself." He reached for their calendar. "Dates, we need dates…"

* * *

Their paths converged in the Buy More's Home Theater room, as they so often did. "What have you got?" one of them said.

"Well," said Hannah, drawing the curtains before turning on any lights, "Last night was 'E-F' night, so tonight I brought _Memoirs of a Geisha_."

"Cool," said Morgan. "And I brought some Sizzling Shrimp, a fine Chinese meal to go with a fine Chinese movie."

"Geishas are Japanese," said Hannah. "What did you bring?"

"The one, the only, the immortal–" He displayed his prize with a flourish, " _Highlander_."

"What's immortal about it?"

"You are about to find out, young–"

"Do _not_ call me 'grasshopper'!"

Morgan acted insulted. "I was about to say 'delicate feminine flower." When she giggled, he added, "And don't tell Chuck I borrowed his Director's Cut. He's keeping secrets from me, we'll just keep that a secret from him."

"Secrets?" asked Hannah.

"Suspicious behavior going back months!"

She frowned. "Are you suggesting Chuck is caught in a giant web of conspiracy and deception?"

Morgan sighed. "I know, it sounds ridiculous, doesn't it?"

"I couldn't agree more, and I've only known him a few days," said Hannah. "Finally, someone with some common sense. Maybe between the two of us we can figure out what's going on."

"Don't worry." Morgan smiled, and took her DVD over to the player. "I've got my best men on it."

* * *

At the Casa de Bartowski y Grimes (more specifically, outside the Casa de Bartowski y Grimes)…

"One glass," said Lester, and Jeff wrote it down. "One bottle, label not visible."

"Drinking alone," said Jeff. "That's never good." You should always have a wingman to hide you in a dumpster when you passed out. Maybe it was different for people who lived in houses.

Footsteps sounded, coming up the walkway. Lester rotated his periscope to see who it was. "It's the shiksa!"

"Run away! Run away!" said Jeff, and together they fled through the potted undergrowth.

Sarah thought she heard something, but nothing seemed to be there. She let herself into the apartment. Chuck sat at a table, with a bottle of something brown in front of him, and a glass of something brown at his lips.

Chuck gulped the brown liquid down. "I don't remember inviting you in," he said truculently.

"I don't remember Manoosh inviting you to re-arrange his life, either," said Sarah.

Chuck looked down at the empty glass in his hands. "Yeah, I know." He refilled it. "Somebody had to do it."

Sarah remembered a certain curly-haired nerd, standing behind a desk, singing. _Piece of cake._ She pulled out a chair and sat. "Pour me one too, barkeep."

* * *

 **A/N2** I really hate strong characters made to appear weak, for comedic purposes. Not funny to me, and since I'm writing the story Ellie's getting her honeymoon. Casey and Sarah watching Chuck drink alone in canon was also a bit OOC, I thought. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	27. Artlover

**A/N** The Mask is generally considered one of the worst episodes, which doesn't entirely account for the time it's taken me to write this. Even if we can manage to overlook the Shaw/Hannah relationships, there are still major plot holes to fill in, such as a museum that doubles as a deathtrap. Hopefully I can overcome that handicap in this version.

I didn't try to put in all the dialog during the rescue, since Chuck couldn't react to it and it would have meant a lot of italics, but the dialog from the show is in the background, more or less. I tried to put in some hints as to when he was communicating with people not in the room. Really, though, blowing the hatch was just too stupid for words, so I didn't want to write any of them.

Thanks to PeterOInNYC for helping me try to come up with some better version of the heist than they gave us.

* * *

" _We have to hide him somewhere._ _"_

" _It did happen."_

" _We'll get through it."_

" _Pour me one too, barkeep."_

* * *

Chuck stood behind the Nerd Herd desk, eagerly anticipating the return of his sister and bro-in-law from Paris. They said they had a lot of video of the Eiffel Tower for him, and he was looking forward to watching that.

Suddenly he felt like he was being watched, and turned. False alarm. Just Jeff and Lester getting into stalker mode. He flicked an eye up to the mirrors, but there weren't many women in that area. Just Hannah, who might have been looking at him but wasn't anymore. No way Jeff or Lester would have anything to do with her.

Something grabbed his arm, and Chuck was about to take action when Casey growled, "Not here, moron," into his ear rather than 'yogurt time'. As Chuck unclenched his fist, Casey said, "Yogurt time," for the benefit of all, as if anyone cared.

The woman behind the counter at the OO wasn't Sarah. Chuck saw the brown hair and blurted out, "Who are you?" before he recognized her face. "Agent Jones?"

"Carmichael," she replied, as if he were some form of disease.

"What are you doing here, Jones?" said Casey.

"When you find out, let me know." She smacked the side of the register. "I'm locked out of all the functions on this thing except for the ones used to actually sell yogurt, and you're the first customers I've had in here. Walker said you'd key me in."

"Why didn't she do it?" asked Casey, flipping the 'Closed' sign.

"Agent Shaw was in a rush."

"Shaw's here too?" asked Chuck.

"Nothing gets by you, does it, Carmichael?" she said snidely. "Shaw pulled me off of a boring surveillance job with at least a chance of gunplay, and stuck me behind this boring counter, with a chance of yogurt, all so I could brief you guys when you finally show up, and keep up the cover." She waved at the building.

"Save it for later," said Casey. "Let's get you into Castle so you can brief us properly."

One addition of new records to the system later…

"Agent Shaw said you knew of his main task, and that I was to inform you that an operation in relation to that task had come to his attention in this area."

The Ring. Training Chuck was a sideline, and hopefully that sideline had been sidelined. "Did he say where?"

"A museum, that's all I know. He left this, with some specifics," she said, passing over a disk. Needless to say the contents were need to know, but she had no way to access them. "He didn't say why he needed Agent Walker for his team. He's briefing her on the way."

* * *

The thieves crept out of the shadows, one moving to secure a bracket on an overhead pipe as the other used an electronic lockpick to open the otherwise-impregnable hatch at their feet, four inches of solid steel. Both halves of the hatch slid into their housings, revealing a well-decorated vault below, historical treasures lining the walls and mounted on display stands. Under the hatch stood the currently reigning king of the collection, an ugly piece of hammered gold called the Mask of Alexander.

One of the thieves, less bulky than the other, shined a light straight down from the location of the bracket, lighting a spot a few feet off to one side from the pedestal. The other thief, far larger, waved a hand, and the smaller thief donned a harness, hooking it to the cable attached to the bracket. The thief dove off the edge of the hole into the vault.

With a precise hand on the remote control, the thief slowed the unspooling of the cable, slowly approaching the level of the Mask, a few feet off to one side. The thief reached out a hand, unable to reach the item. Spinning on the cable, the thief captured the shaft of the Mask's support post between sneakered feet, lifting it off the stand.

"Whoops," said a voice in the thief's ear, from the other one, waiting at the roof hatch. The dangling thief looked up, spotting a small screw or something like it, tumbling in the air, far too late to even try to catch it.

The little object fell to the floor, sparking the electromagnetic sensors with a shimmer of blue, soon lost in the flashing lights of the alarms. "Dammit," said the hanging thief, in a distinctly female voice. She lowered the Mask back onto the stand. "Shaw, what happened?"

"Something on the floor," said Shaw as tonelessly as ever. "I kicked it by accident."

"I didn't see anything." She triggered the remote, and the cable started to pull her up.

"Neither did I, Sarah." Shaw sounded unconcerned, or perhaps distracted. "Routing the alarm into the Fire network."

The sound of the alarms changed, but the hatch closed just above her head, trapping the cables. "Shaw, open the hatch!" Down something hissed, air in motion.

" _I can't_ ," said Shaw. " _The fire system here closed it. I can't open it without killing the alarm and I don't see how to kill the alarm._ "

"Getting harder to breathe." Sarah looked down. "I see lots of vents."

" _It's a slow-vac system. Do you see any air tanks?"_

In a museum? "No."

" _The door can't be sealed. Guests and such have to be able to escape."_

"I'm thirty feet up," said Sarah.

" _You couldn't exactly walk out the front door,"_ said Shaw. _"Don't worry, Walker, I'll handle it."_

"Call Chuck."

" _I will. You should stop talking now, save your breath."_

Sarah pressed the emergency alert on her watch, before taking Shaw's advice.

* * *

At the Buy More…

"Save your breath."

"But Casey…"

"Don't 'but Casey' me! The CIA got nothing, hell, even the NSA got nothing, and the NSA has everything," snarled Casey. "You're gonna have to get close to little Miss Nobody and find out what she's doing here."

"Cozying up to Morgan in the HT room, as far as I can tell," said Chuck.

"Cozying up to the bearded troll, who just happens to be the Intersect's best friend? That doesn't seem suspicious to you?" Casey's face twisted up in disgust. "Not _what_ she's doing here, idiot. What she's _doing_ here."

"Thanks for clarifying."

"Don't mention it," said Casey. "She says she's some sort of computer geek, so take her with you on an install, see what she's got and why she's got it."

"I doubt there's anything a Buy More can throw at her that will test aaand he's not listening."

No, Casey was not listening. He was looking at the front entrance of the Buy More, and the woman currently walking toward them through it, wearing the white pants and orange tank top of a yogurt server from across the parking lot. People stopped and stared. She wasn't blonde. She wasn't Sarah.

"Boobs," said Jeff quite audibly.

Morgan's managerial instincts pulled him out of his office into the relative silence. He fetched up next to Hannah, the only man in the store willing to do so. "What's up, Hannah?"

She indicated the brunette stranger. "Who's that?"

Morgan frowned. "No idea. I wonder what happened to Sarah?"

"Who's she?" asked Hannah, wondering that he would know her name at all.

"The usual counter girl at the Double O. Tall, blonde. Drop dead–" Hannah, not being either of those things, turned to glare at him. "Uh, well, you know, um, pretty. Not my type, though. I think I hear my phone ringing, 'scuse me."

By the time Hannah turned her attention back to the pantomime, the yogurt lady was gone, Casey held the bag she'd brought in and was carrying it off to the break room, and Chuck was on his way over to the Nerd Herd desk. "Gotta go, Nerd Herd emergency." He grabbed a bag and headed for the lot.

 _What the hell is a Nerd Herd_ emergency _?,_ wondered Hannah, and she grabbed her own bag to follow him and find out.

* * *

At the museum, one long drive north later…

"You made good time, Agent Carmichael," said Shaw, dressed in a museum worker's coveralls. He grabbed a handtruck loaded with a crate of some kind, and briefed Chuck as they walked. Much of it Chuck already knew, since Jones had been feeding him data about the museum all the way up, but there was more. "I had to crash the system to keep the alarm from going outside the building," said Shaw. "No one's coming and they can't open the door, but we can't open the door either, and Sarah's got about five minutes of air left." He maneuvered his cargo toward the back of the building as Chuck found the museum manager and introduced himself.

The manager described the scene as it appeared to them from the outside, and nothing he said hinted that the situation was anything but an accident. Fortunately the manager knew more about 3000-year-old antiquities and their maintenance than he did about current computer systems. A slow-vac fire system seemed a bit weird, but Chuck could understand their desire to avoid the use of chemicals.

If only the man would shut up. And back off. Chuck hated hoverers. Just as he was about to ask the man to give him space, another voice spoke up. "Excuse us, sir," said Hannah. "Leave it to us, we're the professionals."

"Hey, Hannah," he said, mainly to inform Shaw that there was someone with him. "Why are you here?"

"You said emergency," said Hannah, sliding into the seat next to him and opening her bag, not that this looked like a tool job.

"Take the database," said Chuck, shunting her off into something important, but not to the cause of getting Sarah out of there alive. He took that task for himself, seeking out the program that was running the fire-suppression. It shouldn't have been a stand-alone, but apparently Shaw's ham-fisted manipulations had delinked the process, and now it was running out of control.

Sarah had less than a minute of air left. "Don't," said Chuck suddenly, sounding distracted. "Wait for me." He looked up and saw her looking at him, and gestured toward her station emphatically. "No, I mean it, don't wait for me."

"Oh," said Hannah. She clicked the mouse a couple of times, until the screen lit. "System has rebooted. DB starting up."

Chuck's fingers were flying, faster than she'd ever seen anyone type before. "Let me know the second it's back up," he said, as if time mattered.

"Uh…done."

"Hold on to something," said Chuck, and he pressed the button.

* * *

The hatch opened slowly, allowing air into the chamber but not in one blast, so as not to damage the artifacts. Casey was holding onto the cables as Chuck had directed, so Sarah wouldn't swing or possibly even fall. "We've got her, Chuck," he said, gesturing Shaw to activate the winch manually. "Which is more than I could say if Agent Special here had had his way."

"What difference does it make?" asked Shaw, as Casey gently guided Sarah's limp body out of the hole and onto the ledge. "She's dead anyway."

Suddenly Sarah jerked, gasping and coughing as color flooded into her face. "Or not," said Casey.

* * *

"Yes!" shouted Chuck, standing up with his arms raised in triumph. He looked at Hannah and for some reason they both said at the same time, "We are invincible!" and burst out laughing. She lunged while his arms were up and snatched him into a hug, which he returned, a bit. Sarah was alive and she'd helped, even without knowing it. "Not bad for your first mission."

"Hardly that," she said, releasing him.

He was more than willing to let her go. "First Nerd Herd emergency, then."

"That it was."

"Splendid work," said the curator, coming in for his own congratulatory handshakes. "Top notch. I can't thank you enough."

"Anytime," said Chuck.

"Okay," said the man. "How about tomorrow? We're having our gala opening, unveiling the Mask of Alexander. Everyone in the art world's going to be there and I'd like you to be also."

"Oo, lovely," said Hannah. "I've never been to a museum gala before."

"And you aren't now," said the curator. "I'm not inviting you, I'm hiring you, to insure that there's no more, what do you call them, bugs."

Hannah deflated, sadly. Chuck cleared his throat twice. "Bring your little black dress, anyway," he said. "Museum's aren't really my thing. I'll do what I can to make sure you get some time in the Sun King." He grinned at them. "Get it? No?"

Hannah offered her hand to the man. "It's a date."

"Magnificent."

"Yes," said Chuck, his smile a little forced. "Isn't it?"

* * *

 **A/N2** I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N** Half this story is pre-written. Sarah already looks creeped out and Shaw is acting like a creep. How they ended up as a couple in canon I'll never know.

* * *

" _Agent Shaw was in a rush._ _"_

" _Save your breath."_

" _We're the professionals."_

" _It's a date."_

* * *

Sarah was busy typing on her report when someone entered the room and put something by her elbow. "Is that your heart, still beating as you ripped it from your chest?"

"No," said Shaw. "It's a double-shot Americano. No cream, no sugar, just the way you like it."

"Because that's not creepy at all," said Sarah, still typing. Somehow when Chuck did it, it seemed friendlier. Or perhaps she had it backward, that he was being friendly, and learned her ways for that purpose, a higher purpose than whatever Shaw had in mind, she was sure. "I'm going to assume the poison is on the swizzle stick."

Shaw, his fingers already in his shirt pocket, came back empty. "I'm not trying to kill you, Sarah."

Possibly. There are lots of liquid chemicals he could put on the stick, that weren't lethally toxic. "No, of course you're not," she said.

"Hey, gang," said Chuck, coming down the stairs.

Sarah spun in her chair, a smile on her face. Her arm, still extended, accidentally caught the coffee cup and knocked it off the table, spilling double-shot Americano down Shaw's leg and into his shoe. Sarah looked down at the mess, and up into Shaw's face. "Whoops."

Chuck looked at the two of them. "What's going on?" Casey, halfway down the stairs, saw the puddle and headed back up for some paper towels.

"Nothing," said Shaw, squishing his way up to the front of the table. He waited until Casey had scattered the towels and found a seat. "You've guessed the CIA is not interested in stealing the mask…"

* * *

Jeff and Lester crouched in the parking lot behind a parked car, looking at the windows of the Orange Orange. "Casey and Chuck, in their usual positions," said Lester, looking through his periscope, and Jeff wrote it down. "Still no hot blonde behind the counter." Jeff wrote 'Boobs'. Lester lowered his scope and sighed at the banality of it all. "We're done here."

* * *

Agent Jones watched the two heat sources on her scope get up and walk away. She checked the windows, where ghostly images of Carmichael and Casey played, and looked at her watch. The footage didn't have much longer to run.

* * *

Down at the briefing…

"We're going to pose as what?" said Sarah.

"Guests at the party," repeated Shaw.

"An affectionate couple, no doubt."

"It would be best," said Shaw, and the stats backed him on it. Unattached agents attracted civilian attention, which they did not want.

"Too bad I'm not field-capable," said Sarah smoothly. "Controlling my breathing and heartbeat the way Chuck taught me is one thing, but _my_ vault was a decompression chamber and I was trapped there for an hour. You'll have to find someone else."

* * *

Upstairs, in the OO…

Jones heard the door inside the freezer open, and then the outer door, so she dialed down the sub-sonics. Casey and Chuck came out, as expected, but so did Sarah, which wasn't. "Go on down, Jones," she said, as the two men went to the end of the counter, ready to step into their positions when the projection ended. "You're going to love this."

* * *

Back at the Buy More…

Hannah watched Morgan's two 'best men' slink out of his office, eyes roaming the store floor for any opportunities for mischief. She kept her position behind the desk and sure enough the Ass Man came to her. "Anything?" she asked.

"Apparently Casey really loves his yogurt," said Morgan, shaking his head. "And doesn't mind bees. Jeff's convinced he hears bees, so he won't go very close."

"You said they were your best," said Hannah.

"They are," said Morgan. "They're just hard to keep on a task. With great power comes great–" _Distractability?_ Is that even a word? And anyway he's mangling Spiderman's best line, and you don't go dissing the web-slinger if you want to…He noticed her looking at him. "I'm sorry, where was I? Oh, yeah, well, torn between Casey eating yogurt on one end and Tank-Top Brunette on the other, they've switched priorities." He sighed. "You want to know what I think?"

"Absolutely," said Hannah.

"Yeah, so do I."

Hannah patted his hand. "Don't worry. Hopefully I can found out something on our date tonight."

Morgan's head came up. "A date?" With Chuck? Chuck already had a girl, why did he have to come after–?

"The museum thing, remember?" said Hannah. "He told me to bring my little black dress, and I will."

Morgan's eyes went wide. "Little…black…"

"Like this, only black." Hannah pulled her shirt tighter. "Lower neckline. And sleeveless, of course."

"Of course," said Morgan, his breathing somewhat labored. He pulled at his suddenly tight collar.

"He won't know what hit him."

"Yeah, what hit…him?" Morgan blinked. "Yes. Yes, of course." He took a deep breath. "What hit Chuck. Because Chuck needs hitting. Right. Well…good luck." He shook her hand and beat a hasty retreat to his office. He sat there for a good while, staring at his favorite poster, burning with unfamiliar emotions. Rage, that Chuck got to see what he would not. Jealousy.

Since when had he started thinking of Hannah as his girl?

* * *

Countdown to showtime…

Phillips-head screwdrivers? Check. Chuck put them in the box.

"Support pyramid and pulleys?" Check. Jones shoved them in the bag.

Lip gloss. Her favorite _special_ lip gloss, perfect for this sort of mission. Check. Hannah shoved it in the bag.

Flash drive of diagnostic scripts? Check. Chuck put that in his pocket.

"Painkillers?" asked Sarah. Casey tossed her the bottle as he continued prepping the van.

Brass knuckles, in case anyone got handsy. Check. Hannah put them in the bag.

* * *

Showtime…

"Okay, here we go," said Casey. Monitor one lit up, showing the view from Chuck's laptop webcam. "Eyes on Agent Carmichael."

Chuck didn't waste time waving at anyone, typing busily on his keyboard, plugging in cables and external drives. Suddenly the other monitors in the van lit with views of the museum interior. "Eyes in the museum," said Sarah. "I see Shaw and Jones."

"I've got Hannah," said Casey. "Who'd she get all dolled up for?"

"Anybody else we recognize?" asked Sarah, ignoring the question.

"Facial Rec says no. Little Black Dress is in motion. Heading for the lobby." Casey switched the view in the main monitor for the lobby cam. "She's heading for the stairs. Be ready, Chuck."

* * *

When Hannah reached the door of the computer room, Chuck was sitting at ease, reading one of the brochures about the exhibit, complete with maps and history of the Alexandrian Empire. He looked up when she made a sound loud enough for him to plausibly hear it. "This is really impressive," he said, waving the piece of paper. "The empire, that is, not the brochure."

Hannah smiled. "You're such a nerd."

"I am."

"Morgan thinks the world of you."

"Yeah." Chuck lowered the brochure. "Hannah, can you keep a secret?"

She gave him an odd look. "I've been known to."

"Do you want to know the real reason I'm working at the Buy More?"

She looked around the room, not finding any answers there. "To save money on clothes?"

Chuck laughed. Once. "No, although that is a consideration." He tossed the paper on the desk. "When I came back from Tektel, I stopped at the Buy More, and I saw what the manager at the time was doing to everyone who worked there. They were pleading for my help, and I…gave it to them. One day he was there, the next day he was gone. Transferred. Not upward. Sideways. Not the best Buy More, that's for sure. A few days later he was dead." She gasped. "No one knows how or who, but I know. _I_ killed him. And that's why I'm here."

Hannah stood there for a moment, her face a mask. "Morgan's in charge now," she finally said. "The rest of them seem happy enough."

"I'm not saying I didn't get my money's worth," said Chuck, sadly. "And I'm not saying it's a lifetime sentence. That homicide was just waiting to happen. I just–" He turned back to the board, and the monitors. Shaw and Jones, and behind them…He flashed.

Hannah misinterpreted his sudden stiffening. "What's the matter?" she asked. "Who do you see?" She came forward to get a clear look at the screen.

Chuck tried to sound excited. "I think that's that guy, that actor in that movie Morgan likes." He stood up. "Can you take the board for a second? Morgan would kill me if I didn't try to get his autograph." He ran out the door, before Hannah could point out that she was far better dressed to go asking for autographs in this milieu than he was.

* * *

In the museum, people turned to stare at the tall guy in the white shirt, clearly not one of them.

Fortunately he seemed to have a destination, and they all relaxed when it become clear that none of them were it.

The tall man who was it didn't seem to mind. "What are you doing here?" asked Shaw.

"You're a famous actor, and I'm here to ask for your autograph," said Chuck, handing over the brochure and one of his Nerd Herd pens. "And to tell you that the agent who broke in to the museum in Damascus, Nicos Vasillis, is in the room, right over there."

Shaw looked down, signing the brochure, sneaking a glimpse behind him. "We'll have to abort," he said quietly. "We have history. I'm pretty sure he'll remember the man who set his face on fire."

" _Chuck, head on back to the control room,"_ said Casey. _"Shaw, answer your phone."_

* * *

Hannah sat in the chair, staring hard at the screen to see if she could recognize the man. If it was someone from Morgan's endless DVD collection, he must not have shown her that movie yet. Chuck took the paper and pen, nodded politely and left. Then the man lifted his phone to his ear, and excused himself to his date. She looked after him as he moved to a more private location. Wait a minute. "Isn't that the girl from the yogurt shop?"

* * *

Shaw walked out to the lobby. "Why am I on the phone with you, Casey?"

" _You had to leave before your cover got blown. Walker's going in, she'll do your part."_

Sarah claimed not to be mission-capable. "Why not you?"

" _I take too long to buff and polish for that crowd,"_ said Casey. _"Walker wakes up polished."_

* * *

Chuck popped through the door of the control room, slightly winded. "Thanks for the assist," he said. "Enjoy your party."

Hannah picked up her bag. "Oh, I will. See you at work tomorrow."

* * *

Sarah walked up the stairs slowly, partly for the role but also because her joints were still kind of sore. As she walked in the door she heard rapid footsteps from the stairs to one side and looked to see Hannah practically running down them. She slowed, rather than be so gauche as to try to compete with a nobody for space.

When she entered the room, she immediately looked for Jones, only to find Hannah ahead of her every step of the way. Jones, not knowing anything about the diminutive brunette, was already looking toward Sarah when Hannah said, "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

Sarah walked past, snagging a flute of champagne from a server. "Jones is out," she said no one in particular. "Hannah got to her first."

" _Dammit,"_ snarled Casey.

"Chuck, you and I will have to get the mask."

" _Head for the door at your eleven,"_ said Chuck. _"I'll buzz you through and meet you up top."_

" _Slave your system to ours, so we can control the vault door from here,"_ added Shaw.

Sarah walked over to the door at her eleven and it buzzed. She opened it and stepped through just as the speakers said "Ladies and Gentlemen…"

* * *

Above the display…

"What have we got?" asked Chuck.

"Cables," said Sarah, "And harnesses. Jones had the heavy stuff with her."

"Okay," said Chuck. He tossed one of the cables over a ceiling beam. "You'll fly, and I'll anchor."

Sarah smiled. "You say the sweetest things." They donned their harnesses and attached the cables. "Let me," she said," running her hand down his torso as she brought the two of them-the cable and the harness, that is-together.

"Time to fly," said Sarah, stepping out over the hole, and Chuck let the rope out slowly.

" _Carmichael, Vasillis' men are on their way."_

"Now that's just bad timing, that's what that is," grunted Chuck.

* * *

In the presentation hall…

"I give you, the Mask of Alexander the Great," said the announcer, with a flamboyant gesture at the sealed vault door. The motors for the door started to whine. Shaw shut them down again. The announcer looked up at one of the cameras.

"Here, hold this a second," said Hannah, handing off her flute of champagne to Jones. She ran for the stairs.

* * *

Chuck went down and Sarah came up, which was good, since Sarah was the better fighter and Chuck had longer arms.

* * *

In the van…

"They'd better hurry up in there," said Shaw. That's the third time this woman has overridden my overrides. I don't know how much longer I can keep that door shut."

* * *

In the control booth…

"What's going on?" asked the curator.

"I don't know," said Hannah. "Something's fighting me. Every time I get the door open it closes them again."

* * *

In the vault…

Sarah dropped the substitute Mask and Chuck caught it, placing it on the podium. "Get me up."

"How?" said Sarah. "You're too heavy."

"Deadweights."

* * *

In the van…

"She beat my lockout," said Shaw. "She's good."

Casey watching the monitor. "Yeah, but Walker's better."

* * *

In the booth…

"Got it!" said Hannah in ultimate triumph. The curator edged past her to look down into the hall as the doors at last began to open.

* * *

Up above the vault…

Sarah pushed the two unconscious Ring goons down the stairs, tethered to the cable that held Chuck. As the doors began to open, he moved up as the goons rolled down. The hatch closed under him, causing a ripple in the air. Agent Jones looked up, but there was nothing to see.

* * *

Outside the computer room…

"Where the hell have you been?" shouted the curator, as Chuck came into view.

"I had a monitor on your electrical feed to the doors, just in case. You know, one of my little doodads." No they did not know. "Right, anyway, it started registering interference, so I went to check the motors, and I found this thing attached."

He handed over a piece of equipment that had in fact been put in place by the Ring, but to control the stairway door, not the vault door. He didn't tell them part. He held up a handful of bloody paper.

"I cut my hand getting it off, but I think the bleeding's stopped now." He'd actually cut his hand catching the fake mask, but he didn't tell them that part either.

"Is this what was fighting you?" asked the curator, more at home with ancient artifacts. He held it out to Hannah.

"I have no idea," she said. "I think that part's a transmitter, so…maybe. I can research it."

Chuck took it back. "I'll do that part," he said. "I told you, museums aren't my thing, but this is. Go, enjoy your mask. I'll see you at work tomorrow. Partner."

* * *

 **A/N2** Rewriting the fight scene was pretty tricky, as was getting all the proper players in position. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N** Last chapter was a little lacking in Charah moments, so I did something I've never done before and went back and revised it a little. Go ahead and read it, I'll just wait here.

* * *

" _Is that your heart?_ _"_

" _Little Black Dress is in motion."_

" _You'll fly, and I'll anchor."_

" _Go, enjoy your mask."_

* * *

Chuck was eating his breakfast when the knock came. "I bid thee enter," he said, just because.

The door opened, and Devon stepped inside. "Hey, Chuck."

"Hey Devon," said Chuck. "How was Paris?"

"Oo, la-la-la-la," said Devon, smirking, and Chuck obliged him by clapping his hands over his ears. "I'm here officially to give you this drive with all our video, especially the Tower." He handed Chuck a flash drive.

Chuck studied it as if he should be able to see what was on it. "You got the elevator–?"

"Unofficially–" said Devon, before his bro-in-law could get started. He looked back over his shoulder, as if Ellie might hear him, "I just want to say thank you, Chuck. Between you and me we might have just gotten her off that whole 'men in black' jag she was on."

Chuck wanted to say it was his pleasure, but really it was Devon's pleasure and that would be a la-la-la line he could never unhear. He gave him a thumbs-up instead.

Devon asked, "You guys have time to come over tonight?" Because of course Ellie would want to have a party and gabfest.

"I'll be there," said Chuck. He shrugged. "I don't know about Morgan. Don't see him much around here at night."

"Really?" asked Devon. "What's up with that?"

* * *

The doorknob rattled, and the curator ignored it. He didn't often lock his office door, but when he did, it was because he didn't want to be disturbed. If anyone out there needed his help at this hour, he needed to hire some new staff.

He looked up in annoyance at the knock on his door. He'd come in early precisely to avoid niggling interruptions, after all. Last night's gala had almost been a disaster, and he still had all sorts of mess to clean up, in spite of everything. Thank God for those two specialists he'd hired.

He went to his door and unlocked it, flinging it open. "Yes, what do you–?" He saw a thin, bearded face, felt a pinch in his neck, before he collapsed. When he woke up he wouldn't even remember that.

* * *

A series of knocks sounded on Morgan's office door, in a strange pattern. "Come in," he called.

Hannah opened the door. "I wasn't finished," she said, closing it behind her.

"Doesn't matter," said Morgan, "You're the only one who remembers the knock anyway. It went well last night?"

Oh, yes. Very well, but he hadn't been asking a question. "How did you know?"

Morgan waved the remains of his protein bar at the phone. "The museum curator called, gave me an earful, in British. I have a problem with British accents, everything sounds like Mrs. Doubtfire. Hey, that'll be a good one for M night." He wrote something down. "It was all bloody Chuck and bloody you, saving the bloody day like a couple of super-spies. I think."

"Super-nerds," Hannah corrected him. "You heard about the thieves?" Morgan nodded, but gestured her to tell the story again anyway. "Chuck found a device on the motor for the doors. The police found a couple of goons wrapped in cables behind a door. They figured they were preparing to dive and fell down the stairs instead."

Morgan got a chuckle at that. "The Jeffster of bad guys."

"I still think they could have used a lasso, or one of those animal control thingies, and saved themselves the trouble." Hannah frowned. "It was all very discreet," she said. Which Jeff and Lester had never been known to be. She frowned. "I knew they were there, and I didn't see anything. Weird."

"I'm sure you had other things on your mind," said Morgan. He looked like he was bracing himself. "How did your _other_ mission go, Spy Girl?"

Her other mission. Her Little Black Dress mission. She looked a little uncomfortable. "Do you trust me?"

He began to worry. "Of course."

"Chuck told me…something…in confidence," she said, hesitantly. "I can't tell you what it was, but I hope you can take my word for it that you have nothing to worry about."

Morgan smiled, considerably relieved. "You're loyal to your boss, and you're loyal to me. Believe me, I appreciate that. I'm pretty loyal to your boss too." He sighed. "I was about to stage an intervention."

On cue, Morgan's phone rang.

* * *

Down in Castle…

"What's this?" said Casey.

"Coffee," said Shaw.

"What, you're coming on to _me_ , now?" Casey put it on the table while Shaw rolled his eyes. "Hm. Probably safe enough. I'll run some basic tests on it while I'm waiting for the safe-box to arrive."

"Safe-box?"

Casey pulled a pre-loaded test tube from his kit. "For your mask." A clear, airtight box, with gloves built in and controlled I/O ports. Capable of containing chemical and biological agents, and even a number of explosives. "Basic safety protocols, you remember those?"

"I remember them, Colonel. I'm just surprised you don't have a unit the proper size on site."

"You and me both," said Casey, dripping a bit of his coffee into the tube. The mixture fizzed and turned blue. He grunted mild approval. "Should be safe enough."

"The coffee? There's nothing wrong with it."

"The jury's still out on that. I'm talking about the mask," said Casey. "It's still in the bag. Not even Chuck would touch it while it's in there."

"Very good," said Shaw. He looked around. "Have you seen Agent Walker?"

Casey looked at the tray, with two cups of coffee still on it. He looked down. Shaw had sneakers on today. Chucks, in fact. Casey grinned. "In there."

* * *

In the Buy More…

Morgan walked with Hannah back to the Nerd Herd desk, where she kept her bag. She pulled out the tray with the keyboard but he stopped her. "I'll take care of that. I may be a manager now but I still know how everything works. You get going, Mr. New Accent didn't sound as patient as Mr. Old Accent, even if he did ask specifically for you."

"Thanks, Morgan," said Hannah. "You're a great friend."

"Time to fly, grasshopper."

"Except for that," she growled.

Morgan watched her leave. "It's a place to start," he muttered to himself. He looked over his shoulder. Chuck was playing Guitar Hero against all comers, and Morgan breathed a sigh of relief. Everything was getting back to normal.

* * *

In Castle…

"Hey, Walker," said Casey.

"What's up, partner?"

"I don't know about his come-on coffee, but this cup of cover coffee he gave me tested out okay." Casey took a sip. "Just the way I like it, black and bitter."

"You couldn't have told me that five minutes ago?" asked Sarah, as Shaw squished out of the room.

 _Heh._ "Sorry. I'd watch out for the swizzle sticks if I were you. If I've noticed you chew on them when you get nervous, I'm pretty sure he has." She ostentatiously dropped the plastic stick into the trash. Casey left her to watch Chuck play air guitar while he went off to get a mop.

* * *

One long drive up to the Simi Valley later…

Hannah roamed around the inside of the museum's vault, as air hissed on its way out. The doors didn't open, in flagrant violation of safety regulations. Her phone didn't work, either, even though she'd charged it on the ride up. No one was going to call this one in, that was for sure, especially not the guy who shoved her in here. Morgan knew where she was, but it would take him a while to miss her, and even longer to get someone else on site.

The thought of Morgan drove the incipient panic away. Thank God for D night. She spilled the contents of her bag on the floor. _What would John McClane do?_

* * *

Back at the Buy More…

Exhausted but victorious, Chuck went to answer the phone at the Nerd Herd desk, currently abandoned with the threat of work looming. "Hello?" he said, with a smile. 'A smile on the face puts a smile in the voice', according to the collected wisdom of the El Segundo School of Finance.

That smile faded. "I'm sorry, you must have the wrong…No, sir, I don't have a girlfriend." He clapped a hand over the mouthpiece, seeking and finding Morgan close by, as always. "Have you seen Hannah?"

"Yeah, there was another call from the museum this morning, they asked for her specifically."

Chuck dropped the handset and ran off to the HT room. Morgan was delayed a little, hanging it up, but then he went after his friend. 'Didn't have a girlfriend'? What was Sarah, chopped scallions? You do _not_ treat your girlfriend like that, even over the–

The HT room was empty. Again. Chuck was gone into thin air, but this time Morgan had some idea where he was going. He ran for a Nerd Herder.

* * *

Sarah's phone rang, with Chuck's ringtone, so she accepted instantly. "Sarah," he said, without waiting for any of the usual greetings, "Vasillis has Hannah at the museum, he wants to trade her for the mask."

"I'll go get Shaw," she said, sounding resigned. "He'll need to sign off on anything we do."

"Be quick," said Chuck. "I'm in the tunnel."

Sarah went to the room with the mask, and sure enough Shaw was there, with what's-her-name from upstairs. Apparently he was showing her how to use the optical scanners on the mask, which should have been safe enough, even outside of a box. "Shaw," she said, and they stopped, putting down the scanners. Shaw turned to look at Sarah while Jones dug around in her back pocket. "We have a situation. Vasillis has a hostage, and he wants the mask. Chuck's on his way."

Shaw opened his mouth, but Sarah would never know what he intended to say, since Agent Jones cut him off. "This place has no signal," she said, holding up her phone. Her thumb twitched.

"Don't!" said Sarah, but it was too late. The front of the support stand for the mask popped down, making a ramp for a small golden cylinder to come rolling down onto the table. Shaw, already facing that way, lunged toward Sarah and pushed her backward as the cylinder released a cloud of gas.

Clear shields dropped out of the ceiling around them, right where Sarah would have been, had she not been moved. Alarms blared and screens flashed automatically, cataloguing the hazard as Shaw and Jones choked on it. Fans and pumps went into action, trying to pull the contaminant from the enclosed space.

Sarah raised her phone to her mouth. "Chuck, that's a no on the mask."

* * *

On the road…

Morgan sat behind the wheel of his Nerd Herder, cursing all the faster-moving vehicles passing by him. Unfortunately the Buy More fitted out its vehicles with speed regulators, and it would only go so fast, no matter how much he tried to floor it.

He was never going to get to the museum at this rate.

* * *

In Castle…

"I'm such an idiot," said Jones, coughing.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," said Shaw. "You couldn't have known the weapon would be rigged for deployment. Vasillis was a fool to key it to such a common brand of phone."

"We're still going to die."

"No you're not," said Sarah, standing outside the clear wall. "Chuck will come through. He'll have that counteragent back here in time to save you both."

"My life is in Carmichael's hands?" said Jones, sagging. "Is that supposed to cheer me up?"

"Yes, it should," said Shaw. "I haven't been completely honest with you. My real reason for coming here was not to deal with the events in the museum, but to train Agent Carmichael. He's very capable."

Jones sank down against the table. "I forgive you."

"For not telling you?"

"For being his trainer," she mumbled.

"Well," said Shaw. "I'm glad we cleared the air."

Suddenly monitors started to flash, white instead of red text declaring the lack of contamination. "Good," said Sarah, trying to hurry up the release of containment. "Let's go. We'll be cutting it close as it is."

A panel blew out. Sarah turned to see Shaw with a shotgun. "Put that down and pick her up," she said, indicating the inert form of Jones. "I'll get you where you need to go."

* * *

At the museum…

"So she matters to you, thief," said Vasillis. "This girl Hannah."

"Of course she does," said Chuck. "She's on my team."

"And an effective team it is, stealing the mask away from both the museum and my own men. I would hire you myself, I need some new thieves on _my_ team, but the Ring is not forgiving. They will demand something be done to punish you. Behave, and all will be well between us."

Chuck held the mask over his head. "You kill her, I destroy this."

Several guns made clicking sounds. "You will pardon me if I don't believe you," said Vasillis.

"You should," said Chuck. He threw the box on the ground, and Casey triggered the smoke grenade they'd put inside it.

Vasillis' men ran away as their boss choked. "You idiot! You've killed us both!"

Chuck dropped character. "You've got a counteragent, don't you?"

"Yes," said Vasillis in panic. "It was shipped in a vase!"

A vase in a museum, like hiding a pig on a farm. "Which one?" asked Chuck.

"I don't know, I'm just the evil mastermind," shouted Vasillis. "I don't do those details."

Chuck shook his head. "And you call me an idiot." Then Vasillis was coming at him with a giant wooden pestle and it was time to move.

* * *

On the road…

"Finally," said Sarah, as they passed whatever moving roadblock had slowed traffic for the last couple of miles."

"Wasn't that a Nerd Nerder?" asked Shaw.

"Kind of busy right now, Shaw."

* * *

In the control room…

Chuck handed over the tube with the counteragent, along with some bits of powdered vase. "Why do you get to have all the fun?" snarled Casey.

"Hey, blame Vasillis," said Chuck. "I just did the one. Get this to the others while I save Hannah."

"If you still can, it's been over an hour." Casey's phone chimed, a text coming in. "They're in the back lot." He left Chuck to it.

* * *

In the front lot…

Morgan leapt from his car and raced into the building, with no idea of what he would do after that. Maybe make a lot of noise, that was always good. Before he could say anything, he heard a whining noise from some big doors, trying to slide apart but there was some electronic gizmo attached.

Morgan looked around and saw a big wooden block on a stick. He picked it up and whacked at the gizmo, knocking it off the doors. They slid open and there she was, lying slumped on the ground next to a partially disassembled grill. He threw the block-on-a-stick away, ran over and knelt next to her, rolling her over into a more comfortable position.

Suddenly she swung, Philips-head screwdriver in hand, but Morgan's arm was in the way. "Hey," he shouted, watching as her wild eyes settled on his face. "It's me."

"Morgan." Hannah pulled him into a fierce hug. "Thank you. Thank you."

"For what?" asked Morgan, honest to a fault.

Hannah pulled back to look him in the face. "You saved me," she said.

He looked around at the ruined room, taking the screwdriver from her hand. "Looks to me like you saved yourself."

"It was your movies that gave me the idea." She hugged him again, and this time he hugged her back.

"You're welcome," he said, with a smile on his face and in his voice.

* * *

In the control room…

Chuck left his buddy to his moment and checked the monitor for the back lot. Casey was nowhere in sight, probably on his way back. Shaw sat with Jones on the ground, both of them breathing heavily. Sarah stood by the car, looking up at the camera. He toggled it up and down, to let her know he was watching. She gave him a thumbs-up, and he touched the image of it on the screen.

 _Yay, us._

* * *

 **A/N2** This section of canon ended silently, so I did the same, much as I prefer dialog. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N** Okay, this last part of the episode is pretty light on content, and the content it had was pretty stupid. Let's see what we can do to improve that, and also let's find out what's going on elsewhere. I expected this chapter to be harder to write but it practically leapt out at me, so here we go, getting out of this part of canon with several bangs.

* * *

" _It went well last night?_ _"_

" _The jury's still out on that."_

" _I forgive you."_

" _You're welcome."_

* * *

"What a mess."

The main display floor of the museum had indeed seen better days. Several vases had been smashed by Nicos Vasillis in his frenzied belief that he'd been poisoned, looking for the antidote. The tool used to do the smashing was over by the vault door, having been used to remove a complex electronic lock from the vault doors. The air still smelled of something burned, from vault doors trying to open when they could not. The vault itself had been partially disassembled by the woman trapped inside, with a bunch of tools and an attitude problem.

At least she wasn't still around. Neither was her rescuer. Both of them, Buy More employees, had gone back to work, too wrapped up in each other to even notice the mess they'd left behind.

"The rest of the staff will be here soon," said Casey. "Too soon for a cleaner crew to take care of this."

" _I think fake three thousand year old relics are a little outside their wheelhouse, Casey,"_ said Chuck in their ears. Casey's and Sarah's ears, anyway. Shaw and Jones had been too indisposed to really participate fully in the mission. _"We'll just have to fake it."_

"How do we do that, Chuck?" asked Sarah. Just because he had a plan already didn't mean it couldn't use a few tweaks.

" _I'll put records in the system, sending the missing artifacts to other museums,"_ said Chuck. _"And put a lockout on the vault doors. The cleaner crew can take care of the damage while they quote fix unquote the doors."_

"We'll get rid of the empty podiums and rearrange the others, and sweep up the dust," finished Casey, looking at his partner in grime.

"Hopefully no one will notice a few missing vases from a room full of them," said Sarah, taking off her coat.

Daniel Shaw came up beside them, his arm still wrapped around Agent Jones. "What do we do?"

Sarah looked at him, all sweaty from his ordeal, still slightly breathless. No way should either of them be pushing a broom, or anything more strenuous than that, and everything about this plan was more strenuous than that. Maybe he'd trapped her in an airless room, but he'd also instantly pushed her away from a poison grenade. "Maybe you two could go get us some coffee," she suggested. "I think we're all going to need some."

* * *

At the Buy More…

Two Nerd Herders pulled up neatly side-by-side in the lot behind the store. Morgan and Hannah got out of their respective vehicles. Morgan stopped Hannah at the base of the loading dock steps. "Are you sure you're all right?" he asked, daring to put his hands on her shoulders in what he hoped was a companionable fashion.

"I'm fine," she said, yet again. She put her hands on his shoulders in a companionable fashion.

"Well, that's good, then," said Morgan, with a smile, and they pulled away from each other, maintaining contact, until their hands touched. "We should report this, you know, to the police. It might be related to what happened last night."

"I got a card," said Hannah, and she let go to dig it out of her bag. When she handed it to Morgan their fingers brushed together.

Morgan took the card and entered the number into his phone for later. "Hey, look at that," he said. "The numbers spell out 'dustbin', how cool is that?" He held out his phone. "I have an app that automatically finds the closest word, so it's easier to–" She gave him a look. He cleared his throat. "We should go in."

"We should," said Hannah. She fiddled with her bag while he adjusted his tie. When they climbed the stairs, he had his hand at her back but in no way touching.

* * *

Once they disappeared into the building, Jeff and Lester appeared from behind a dumpster, a hiding place Morgan had never found because it wasn't technically in the building. "That's why he sent us to watch Mr. and Mrs. Yogurt," said Lester melodramatically. "So he could carry on with the devil-woman behind our backs."

"Office romance," said Jeff into his phone, "Or sexual harassment? And if so, who's harassing who?"

"I think you've just spelled out our next mission precisely," said Lester. "Come, Jeffrey, the game is afoot."

"They're playing footsie already?"

* * *

Sarah appeared in the doorway, watching Chuck type. "Hey, Chuck," she said. "We're about done downstairs."

"And I'm about done up here," said Chuck, signing off the computer with a flourish. "Are we a good team or what?"

"We are," said Sarah. "Shaw and Jones are safe–"

Chuck nodded. "Morgan and Hannah are safe."

"And soon I think we–you and I, that is– are going to be even better."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning Shaw was talking to Jones, earlier, and he was telling her how capable he thought you were."

Chuck smiled. "Was he now?"

"Of course he was dying at the time." Sarah raised her wrist, drawing her fingers over the charms on her bracelet. "And I was thinking that perhaps I would be able to give you back your heart soon."

Chuck touched her hand, and she stopped. "What if I don't want it back?"

"Well," said Sarah, pulling her hands away. "I figured I'd deal with that little problem when it came to me."

"Ah," said Chuck.

* * *

 _Ah_ , thought Casey. So that's what this has all been about. He shook his head in dismay. _When are those two idiots going to realize their mikes are still on._

Still, Chuck was right, they were a team. A good team, and Casey found he liked being a player on a good team.

* * *

At Ellie's place, that night…

"Hey Chuck," said Devon, "Come on in." He looked outside the door. "Just you?"

"Sarah and Casey said they'd be along soon," said Chuck. "Still not sure about Morgan. I passed him the invite, but he said he had to stay late for some reason."

Devon shrugged. "His loss."

* * *

Back at Castle…

"Okay, we're heading out," said Sarah, as she and Casey got their coats. "You guys staying?"

"No, I have these new medical forms to fill out," said Shaw. "Some toxins aren't covered by our plan anymore."

"Same here," said Jones.

Casey just grunted as he and Sarah left. Shaw and Jones continued to work on their forms for a bit, until suddenly an alarm sounded. "What's that?" asked Jones.

Shaw compared the sound of the alert to the catalog in his memory. "That's the perimeter alert for the Home Theater room in the Buy More."

Jones checked her watch. "Who'd be in there at this hour?"

Shaw shrugged. "Let's find out." He went to the console and clicked on the monitor.

* * *

In the HT room…

"Hey Hannah," said Morgan. "I told you, we can't do movie night tonight. Ellie and Devon came back from their honeymoon, and Ellie's making pot roast. I won't miss her pot roast for man or–"

Hannah dropped her coat. Underneath she wore her Little Black Dress.

Morgan blinked. Twice. "What was I saying?"

Hannah stepped closer, wrapping Morgan in her arms. "You've already said everything I need to hear."

* * *

In Castle…

"I think we've seen enough of that," said Jones, and Shaw clicked off the monitor. She looked at him thoughtfully as he came back to his seat. "Agent Shaw…Daniel. Did I ever say thank you, for saving my life? I don't remember."

"It was a group effort."

"See, now that's the thing," she said, standing up. "I don't seem to remember a group effort. I _remember_ Agent Walker pounding on a keyboard while you took a shotgun to the glass," she said, walking around the table. "I _remember_ you picking me up and carrying me out of here on your back." She sat down on his lap. "I _remember_ you making sure I got the antidote first. You saved me, Daniel."

Shaw looked up into her face. "I–" He reached up, brushing her hair back, where it had fallen over her cheek. He stared at her in shock, or awe. He raised his other hand to brush the hair back from the other side of her face. "I did," he said, in a tone of wonder. "I saved you."

Jones chuckled in his ear. "And that's all _I_ need to hear."

* * *

In the Buy More, outside the HT room…

"This way, Jeffery," said Lester, scampering through the well-scampered aisles of the Buy More. "Soon the months of deception and trickery will be resolved."

Jeff grabbed the boob-cam from its stand and expertly adjusted the focus as he followed his partner in debauchery to their goal. Lester slid the door back, and the two men pulled aside the curtains.

Hannah crouched over her prey as he lay flat on the couch, sucking at his neck. She must have had supernatural hearing, for she suddenly raised her head, glaring straight at them, her lips bright red, her victim's neck equally crimson. Forever after, Lester would claim she hissed at them.

He fell back, pulling on Jeff's collar. "Run away! Run away!"

* * *

Inside the HT room…

Morgan looked dazed, his face covered with lipstick. "What?"

"Nothing," said Hannah. "But I think we need to take this elsewhere."

* * *

Nicos Vasillis pondered the mystery of life as he waited to be called by the masters of the Ring. He should have been dead, he expected to die, exposed to the poison in the grenade, but he did not die. Surely this was a sign that his gods approved of him.

The circle lit in front of him, and he stepped into the light. Above him there were five, always five, but only the one ever spoke. "Are you sure it was him?"

As if he could ever mistake that hated face. Another mystery of life, for he had not known Daniel Shaw yet lived. He would have pursued him to the ends of the Earth, had he known, and now his employers would get his vengeance for him. "What are you going to do to him?"

"The same thing I'm going to do to you."

What was that supposed to mea

* * *

 **A/N2** Looks like a lot of ill-informed decision-making going on. The coffee gag was fun but getting old. I liked the whole dustbin idea but this was just a shout out. I hope none of you mind that I got rid of the "I have a type" dialog. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	31. Jeffster vs the Succubus

**A/N** I already did the good version of this episode, so now I'll do the silly one. Still hopefully better than canon.

* * *

" _What a mess._ _"_

" _Are we a good team or what?"_

" _What was I saying?"_

" _What are you going to do to him?"_

* * *

In the Buy More men's room where they'd been hiding since they discovered Hannah feeding on their manager, pretty sure she wouldn't come after them in there, because, you know, _men's_ room…

Lester paced as much as the length of the room would allow. "All has become clear," he said with his characteristic melodrama, trying to inject some amount of meaning into his life. "Our fearless leader is bewitched."

"I thought you said she was a vampire," said Jeff, with his characteristic…Jeff. He sat on the floor in stall one, shaking the boob-cam, annoyed that it wasn't showing him any of those things. "She just looks like a girl."

"You say that so casually," said Lester, flinging his arms about. "'Just a girl.' Do girls glare at us like that?"

"Yes." Jeff reached into the toilet for one of his remaining beers, popping it open against the porcelain.

Lester threw his arms in the air. "Do girls have _lips_ like that? Make those _sounds_?"

Those details Jeff was less sure about, so he cast about for a better, stronger truth. "She's a delicate feminine flower," he said, beginning to sweat. "She said so herself."

"I don't know, Jeffery," said Lester suspiciously, pointing at him. "I could almost swear it sounds like you're in her thrall too."

Jeff looked at the extended finger, trying to focus. "What's her thrall, and how do I get in it?"

"You're disgusting," snapped Lester. "It would serve you right if I left you under that wench's spell." He stared at himself in the mirror, and drew himself up proudly. "But such is my greatness of spirit that I will go into the lioness' den myself, to save you all. You will say the name Lester Patel with reverence." Just like he did.

"Who's Lester Patel?" asked Jeff.

"I am." He got a used coffee cup and turned on the sink. As it filled he made a lot of weird hand gestures over it.

"Right, you are," said Jeff. He belched. "The 'Patel' part threw me off, but I'm better now."

"I go," said Lester, taking the cup. "Pray for me, Jeffery."

Jeffery was having trouble deciding which of the after-images was talking to him. "Good luck."

* * *

Hours later…

The door to the Casa de Grimes y Bartowski creaked open, and Lester took a quick peek at the room on the other side before he dared venture in, his substantially reduced cup of water at the ready. "Morgan?"

He heard the sound of someone taking a shower. Running water and daylight, two things he usually tried to stay away from, but today they were beacons of hope. He minced across the floor to the bathroom door. "Morgan," he whispered hoarsely. "I know we've had our differences in the past, but today I'm here for you. I'm here to save you. Stay where you are, until I've destroyed the hellspawn."

The water stopped, and somebody moved about in the room, clearly not waiting until he'd destroyed anybody. Lester stepped away from the door. "Stay back, Morgan," he said, still trying to keep his voice down. "You may be just a thrall, but I won't hesitate to take you down if I have to."

"Is someone out there?" said Morgan through the door. He flung it open, revealing himself wrapped in a multitude of towels, scrubbing at the last vestiges of Hannah's blood-red lipstick.

Lester threw the contents of his cup upon the witch's zombie slave.

Morgan was completely unfazed by the sight of Lester standing in his living room. "Dude, I just took a shower," he complained, wiping himself with one of the towels. He raised it to his nose. "Is that stale coffee?"

"From the cup," said Lester, relieved that Morgan appeared to be normal now. "The water was holy, purified by the sacred rites of my people." He looked into the cup. "There was more of it, though. Do you have any idea how hard it is to walk here from the Buy More without spilling?"

 _If it had been beer the cup would have been full._ Morgan took what small blessings he could get. "What did you need holy water for?"

"To deal with the hellspawn," said Lester, as if it was obvious, or should have been. "To free you from her curse."

"Hannah?" said Morgan, boggle-eyed. "She's the kindest, gentlest, most thoughtful woman that I've ever–"

"Aaah!" shrieked Lester, his arm spasming, tossing cupfuls of stale-coffee-scented air Morgan's way. "The taint remains!" He looked at his twitching hand, the empty cup. "Can you move, please? I need more water."

"Go back to the Buy More," said Morgan, not moving. "I'd give you a lift, but Hannah's already called shotgun."

The front door rattled and Lester hissed desperately, "Resist!" before running into Chuck's room.

Hannah came in the front door with a pink box that smelled like sugar. Chuck came out of his room, looking moderately scruffy. They both said, "What the hell was that?" at the same time, in just the same way.

"What was what?" said Morgan, trying to project an air of innocence and failing.

"Why did Lester just run through my room and out the Morgan-door?" asked Chuck, looking annoyingly awake and aware, all things considered.

"He ran through the fountain like he was on fire," added Hannah. "And then he came back to grab a cup of water."

"Oh, uh, just…Lester being Lester," said Morgan, with a bright smile. He looked down. "Oh, look at me. I have to go get dressed for work. Be out in a minute." He escaped into his room and slammed the door.

Chuck and Hannah just stood there, staring at each other. "Good morning," said Chuck.

"Doughnut?" asked Hannah, opening the box.

"Part of a good breakfast," said Chuck, helping himself to one.

"Speaking of breakfast," said Morgan, opening the door now that it was safe, "I'll be making a nice dinner tonight, I hope you'll all be here. I want everybody to meet Hannah."

Hannah looked a little stressed at the news. "Everybody?"

"My sister," whispered Chuck. "And Devon, but mostly Ellie. Morgan likes to show off."

Her voice deepened ominously. "Me?"

"His cooking," said Chuck. "My sister's the best cook we know. Introducing you is both a goal and an opportunity."

"Oh," said Hannah. "Sure."

"I'll make sure they know," said Chuck to the open door.

"Great," said Morgan, coming out all neat and tidy, but not so tidy that Hannah didn't take a moment to hand him the box and straighten his tie. "Okay, Chuck, we're heading in, I guess. See you at the Buy More later?"

Chuck gave him a thumbs-up, his mouth full of doughnut.

* * *

Later, at the Buy More…

Lester staggered in, his shoes making little squelching noises. He plopped himself down on the toilet in stall one and stretched out his long legs, sighing in relief. "Did I miss the uprising?"

Jeff shook his head. "Customers are coming in, and the greenshirts are _helping_ them. Morgan's in and out of his office all the time, making sure things run smoothly. Hannah's busy _fixing_ stuff."

Lester cocked an ear, but the room was still. "It's quiet," he said at last. "Eerily, unnaturally quiet."

"Yeah."

"Her influence is spreading. I can smell it."

"That's my smoothie," said Jeff, taking a slurp.

"Any left?" asked Lester hopefully.

"I don't know," said Jeff. "Let me go check around behind the Orange-Orange." He stood up. "Be right back."

* * *

Lester kept himself hidden in Jeff's usual place, monitoring the comings and goings of the Buymorians, scrutinizing their behavior for any strangeness. Skip brushing his hair the wrong way, to make it bushier. Fernando and his make-up kit. Lester began to relax, reassured by the normalcy of it all.

Chuck walked in, positioning himself in front of the mirror. In a series of small movements, his hair became mussed, his tie slightly undone, his perfect posture became a slight slouch, and oh, the amount of practice that showed. Finally, he smiled. It looked like his normal smile.

Lester wasn't fooled. He was an artist, even if he was sadly unappreciated in his time, and he could recognize another. Which is how he knew Chuck was no artist, but whatever was in Chuck's body now was. When the thing wearing his friend's body like a suit left the room, he followed, reaching the bathroom door in time to see the Bartowski-bot slip into the HT room.

Lester followed, walking with exaggerated care, both to baby his sore feet, keep his cup of newly-blessed water from spilling, and to keep the squelching noises down. He checked the state of the curtains, glad to see them closed. No hint of the evil inside would leak out. Cup at the ready, he pushed the door open and slid inside.

No one was there. Had it gone out the other side? Did it suspect it was being followed? Lester turned and went back to the door. No army of zombies awaited him when he opened it, and he slipped back into the hallway, to go back to the safety of stall one.

Then he saw a most wondrous sight, smelled a most heavenly smell. On a table by the Employee of the Month poster sat a pink box, lid open, reeking of sugar and other sweet things. He went to the box, empty of course, and lifted it, putting his cup down to scoop up some left-over powdered sugar on his finger. Then he came to his senses. The devil-woman! He threw the box away, grabbed his cup and spilled water over his hand. He raced back to the bathroom to wash off whatever lingering traces of cursed powdered sugar remained.

Jeff came into the room, shutting the door and killing the lights. Lester heard the sound of someone waloking into a wall, and the lights came back on. "You were right, Lester," said Jeff as he hobbled across the room. "You were right. I was behind the Orange Orange and I saw them."

"Them who?"

"Zombies," said Jeff. "She's turning the greenshirts into her zombie slaves."

"Which ones?"

"Casey."

Lester frowned. "How can you tell?"

"He didn't grunt," said Jeff, and Lester nodded. "He and this other guy carried some body into the Orange Orange. That new girl held the door for them."

"Somebody? You don't know who?"

"Not somebody, some body," said Jeff. "He looked dead. So did the other guy. The lights were on, but clearly no one was at home."

Lester grunted. "She's casting a wider net…"

"They talked about assuming his identity," said Jeff. "Casey wanted to, but the dead-faced guy said someone named Carmichael should do it."

"Carmichael, Carmichael," said Lester, tasting the word. "Nope, doesn't ring any bells for me." He reached up to scratch his head.

Jeff grabbed his hand, sniffing it. "Your hand. It doesn't smell like anything."

Lester pulled his hand back. "I had to wash it. I was following Chuck and–Chuck! He was acting strangely too. What do you want to bet he ate one of those cursed doughnuts?"

"I would."

"Chuck has qualities you lack, my friend," Lester patted Jeff's shoulder patronizingly, "But even so the witch was too subtle for him."

From the hall they heard the sound of a door opening. They pushed open the door just enough to peek out, toward the HT room as Chuck and Casey came out of it.

"Remember, said Casey. "You're Rafe Gruber now. You kill first…"

"And ask questions later," finished Chuck in a low growl. He kicked the doughnut box. Looking down, he lifted a foot and crushed the box flat. "Come on, let's go get some cupcakes."

"Will you forget the cupcakes, Bartowski?"

Chuck, that is, Rafe Gruber, gave Casey a dark and dirty look. "Who's Bartowski?"

"Better," said Casey.

"Let's just do the job," said Gruber-Chuck, and the two men walked toward the loading dock.

Jeff and Lester came out of the bathroom, looking after their two possessed friends. "Get Loretta," said Lester. "The Buy More will contain the infection for now, but we have to stop those two if we are to save the world."

* * *

 **A/N2** Hopefully I'm capturing the gist of the canon plot without using any of the actual details. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	32. Chapter 32

**A/N** Crazy like a fox.

* * *

" _All has become clear._ _"_

" _The taint remains!_ _"_

" _She's casting a wider net."_

" _We have to stop those two if we are to save the world."_

* * *

"Hey. Where do you two think you're going?"

Jeff and Lester turned, Morgan, the thrall-in-chief, stood at the other end of the hall, no doubt placed there to prevent them doing exactly what they were intending to do. Trapped between the Morgan-bot on one end and both the Casey-bot and Chuck-bot on the other, they decided to take their chances with the smaller man.

"Come on," said the Ass Man, beckoning. "Big Mike has something he wants to show us."

Jeff whimpered. _Something to show them._ "Glasses," said Lester, and he reached into his pocket, for the pair he kept there in case Bennigans opened early. Jeff followed suit, and the two joined the crowd gathered around Big Mike's display, looking like their normal post-payday selves.

Nothing hypnotic, just…cookware.

Lester listened with part of his attention, his eyes scanning the crowd in one direction as his glasses pointed in another. Years of practice made it easy.

"Look at them," said Jeff. Morgan and Hannah were standing discreetly off to one side, apparently paying rapt attention to the boss man's announcements.

 _A leadership conference?_ scoffed Lester. _Who would believe that?_ And why send Chuck when Morgan would be the more obvious choice? But no, the witch needed him to control the store for her, so there he stood. Morgan and the devil-woman made no signs of being in any relationship at all. Their disguise was perfect, but Lester knew better. "If only he was just a love-smitten fool."

"They're trying too hard," said Jeff.

"You see it too," said Lester. A disguise within a disguise, a pretense of collegial friendliness that would fool most into thinking they were more than friends, but not Lester. The role of lovers was clearly just another layer of disguise, and a poor one at that. "We've seen the greatest lady-killer in Burbank in action."

"Morgan's no 'chuck'-magnet," said Jeff.

"Look," said Lester, as Big Mike went on about crockery. The devil-woman–he dared not call her 'Hannah' even in the privacy of his own thoughts–had leaned in close and was whispering into Morgan's ear. "Under that thin veneer of lovers–in-disguise she gives him orders right in front of us."

* * *

On the other side of the crowd…

"I really am excited about dinner tonight," said Hannah. "In case you were wondering."

Morgan smiled. "Nope. Not wondering."

Big Mike continued. "As the El Segundo School of Finance taught me…"

* * *

Back on the first side…

"What's she saying?" asked Jeff.

"Something about dinners," said Lester, for whom lip-reading was more common than book-reading. "Probably how she plans to spread her filth. Doughnuts, then dinners. Food products." He glowered at the display of crockpots.

"Look at Morgan's smile," said Jeff. "I was gonna say sorcery, but now I'm thinking mind-altering chemicals."

"I need some volunteers," said Big Mike.

Lester raised his hand, and Jeff followed his lead.

"Hands like yours? I don't think so," said Mike. "Where's Casey? I bet he's peeled a few spuds in his time."

"We'll find him for you, boss," said Lester. He and Jeff headed toward the back of the store, stopping only to catch a final glimpse of their nemesis. She was speaking to Morgan again, as the crowd dispersed, and…yes! There it was, a kiss, so brief, so small, he might not have even noticed it had he been anyone else. He could practically feel Morgan's will crumble. "I have a pun for you Jeffrey," said Lester. "Soon we'll deal with that devil ourselves."

"I don't get it."

* * *

Behind the Buy More…

"They got away," said Jeff, when they could spot neither man, both of whom were pretty tall.

"Chuck's Nerd Herder is still here," said Lester. "Whatever foul creatures inhabit our two friends–"

"I don't know that I'd call Casey a friend."

"He's a greenshirt, he's one of us," snapped Lester, slicing the air with his hand. "What was I saying?"

"That wherever they went, they took someone else's car to do it."

"Exactly!"

"They had a car behind the Double O, when they were bringing the body in," said Jeff. "It wasn't the new counter girl's, I've got hers memorized, so it probably belongs to the dead-faced guy."

"It's a place to start," agreed Lester, snapping his fingers. He looked down, noticing for the first time that his hands were empty. "You go get Loretta, I'll get more water."

* * *

Behind the Orange Orange…

"It's not here," said Jeff. "But I found your smoothie."

Lester took a sip. "Hmm. Strawberry, a bit of peach. Is that coconut?"

"I thought it might have been coffee," said Jeff. "I always have trouble with those two."

"Either one's good," said Lester, draining the cup in one gulp. "I need more, if I'm to carry on the hunt."

Jeff nodded. "I'll get a towel."

Lester was just about to go check the dumpster for more when the back door to the store cracked open. He backed up and ran into Jeff, standing behind him. He dropped the cup and grabbed a corner of the towel. "Let's go," he whispered, "Whoever it is, they're our only lead."

They came around the building with the towel at the ready. White slacks, orange top, she was backing out of the store, dragging something along. Another body, perhaps?

Their timing was perfect. Just as the woman got clear of the door, Jeff on one side and Lester on the other threw the towel over her head. "Hey!" she shouted, as the two lifted her up.

Jeff, one arm wrapped around her torso, trying to keep her arms under control, put a hand over where her mouth should have been, under the towel. She bit him. Lester was struggling to control her feet. "Quick," he said, "In the van!"

They carried the writhing figure into the van, Jeff climbing in first, Lester releasing her legs as he reached for his cup of holy water. Jeff let go and moved to protect their gear. The woman pulled the towel off as Lester threw the water into her face.

"What the hell–!" shouted Sarah. "I just took a shower." She wiped her face with the towel, and sniffed at the cloth. "Is that coffee?" She dropped the cloth, face screwed up in disgust.

"Could be coconut," said Jeff.

"Are you a zombie?" asked Lester, not to be diverted by a slightly damp T-shirt.

Sarah looked at him funny. "Am I a what?"

"A zombie."

"A mindless hulk," said Jeff.

"A soulless automaton," said Lester.

"A mandroid with boobs," said Jeff.

"I got it, thank you," said Sarah. She looked over her shoulder. "You, down front." She pointed at Lester, and Jeff moved to join him. "What the hell are you two talking about?"

"Something strange is happening in the Buy More," said Lester. "Only we are aware of it." His moving finger circled reluctantly to include her in the 'we'.

She pulled back from being included. "Zombies?"

"Or something zombie-like," said Lester. "We're flexible. But it's been happening for weeks, and that new girl Hannah is at the center of it."

"Chuck seems to think she's all right," said Sarah doubtfully.

"Oh, well then, maybe I should ask Chuck for his opinion," said Lester. "I'll just ask around for _Rafe Gruber_ until I find him."

Sarah frowned at them. "What's that supposed to mean?"

* * *

Outside yet another cupcake shop in Burbank…

"Anything?" asked Lester.

"No suspiciously tall men here either," said Jeff. "You hungry? I did the last three."

"No one said to get boxes," said Lester, "Cupcakes give me hives. But I am thirsty, and look what we have here, right across the street."

"I thought you didn't like Italian places," said Jeff. "All that boxing."

"We're trying to save the world, Jeffrey. One must make allowances."

"What about her?" asked Jeff, hooking a thumb at the passenger seat, where the shiksa sat, looking bored.

Well, it was her own fault. They'd generously allowed her to drive, but if she wasn't driving too slowly, she was constantly getting them lost. Of course no one, especially not a woman, could be expected to understand the complex equipment that filled the back of the van, so there wasn't much for her to do. "She can watch the store, until we get settled inside." He put on a headset, and handed her a microphone. "Speak into this, if you need to talk to us. Don't try to fiddle with anything, you'll probably just break it."

They climbed out of the van, standing straight for the first time in a while, before they started down the street to the bar. They hadn't gone more than ten feet when official-looking vehicles pulled up in front of their destination. They immediately started back to the van as men in helmets got out and swarmed the building.

"What are you doing back here?" asked the shiksa, in the back of the van, probably fiddling with stuff even though he'd told her not to. _Women._

"Feds," said Jeff, pointing.

"If you're going to be back there, make yourself useful," said Lester. "Hand me the parabolic, that's the cone-shaped thing down there, and plug it in where the microphone plug is."

She did as he directed, and he got the microphone gun pointed downrange just in time. Men came out the front door, a couple that none of them knew, and Chuck. Sarah dialed up the volume on the speaker.

" _Come on, move, we've got to split up,"_ said Chuck.

" _We'll contact you later with your assignment!"_ shouted the older guy.

The younger, fatter one, held back a second. _"Rafe, you're incredible."_

" _Yeah, whatever,"_ sneered Chuck as the fat man ran off. _"It's my job."_

"Do you believe us now?" asked Lester as the men scattered, and Sarah nodded.

Jeff put Loretta in gear, but when they reached the intersection where Chuck had gone, he continued on. "What are you doing?" asked Sarah. "Chuck went that way."

"More Feds," said Lester. "Didn't you see that big black van?" He smirked understandingly at her obtuseness. "Believe me, Jeff and I can smell federal agents from a mile away."

"You don't think they could help you?"

"Cops got better things to do than get killed," said the two men together, and Lester said, "Jinx."

"It's worse than we thought," said Jeff. "You heard that old guy, he said he had Chuck's assignment."

"Yes," drawled Lester. "The witch has allies on the outside. But that could work to our advantage, Jeffrey. We have this address, and you've got their faces on video…?"

"Of course."

"Then we know what we have to do." He looked at Sarah. "The question is what do we do with you?"

"You can take me home," said Sarah. "I have a dinner invitation at Morgan's house tonight, he wants to introduce everyone to his new girlfriend. It would look suspicious if I didn't go."

"You can't eat anything she gives you," said Lester. "That's how she spreads her control."

"Morgan's cooking."

"You can't eat anything he gives you either."

Sarah huffed. "Well, I have to eat something, and Jeff ate all the cupcakes."

"I asked you if you wanted one."

"Three hours ago!"

"Ladies, please!" shouted Lester, and the noise subsided. "I have an idea. We'll stop somewhere and get a crate of those bottles of water. I'll bless one, and you can add a drop to anything they give you, to dispel the curse."

"Okay."

"We'll go back to HQ, and start our investigation, while you get ready for your…party." Lester sniffed, scanning her up and down. "Step outside just before liftoff. We'll put together something for you to record the conversation and get it to you. We need to learn their codes."

"Um…sure."

"Then let's be about it."

"Warp factor five, mister," said Jeff, and he hit the gas.

* * *

At the dinner party…

Sarah, wearing a large pin of surpassing ugliness on an otherwise beautiful dress, shook hands with Hannah, as Chuck introduced her. "This is my dame–" he coughed. "I mean my date, Sarah."

"You okay, Chuck," said Morgan. "You sound a little bit hoarse."

Chuck smirked. "Nothing I can't handle."

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Sarah," said Hannah. "And I have to say I'm a bit surprised, too. I can't imagine why Chuck would have asked me to come here, with a girlfriend in town." She gave Chuck a dark look.

"You can't imagine what?" asked Chuck, not sounding hoarse at all.

"You sent me an email, asking to come out, don't you remember?"

Chuck looked sidelong at Sarah. "Uh…no?"

"Bastard." Sarah swung a slap at him.

Chuck caught it easily, with a growl. "Watch yourself, doll. Maybe you better go outside until you cool off." He released her arm, pushing her around toward the door.

"Maybe I ought to wait outside until I find myself a new boyfriend!" snapped Sarah back. She marched to the door and slammed it as hard as she could on the way out. She paused by the fountain, removing the pin from her dress and sticking it in the purse next to the recorder. Then she walked over to Casey's door and knocked.

"Casey, how many of us had access to Chuck's email account a few weeks back?" she asked, after he let her in.

"You and me, definitely," he said, considering the time frame. "Shaw, probably."

"That's what I thought."

* * *

In Castle…

"What are doing now?" asked Agent Jones, draping her arms over Daniel Shaw's shoulders as he typed on his keyboard.

"Just some old business," he replied. "I brought dinner, if you'd like some."

Jones went to open the packages. "Smells wonderful. You?"

Shaw watched on the screen as Chuck sat alone on his side of the table. "Absolutely."

* * *

 **A/N2** Not as silly as the last one. A few mysteries resolved. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	33. Chapter 33

**A/N** I'm doing this whole episode as much as I can from Lester's POV, so whatever he knows, we know. The problem is, he doesn't know anything, but at least he doesn't know that either. There must be times, however, where things he doesn't know about happen anyway.

* * *

" _They're trying too hard._ _"_

" _Are you a zombie?"_

" _Do you believe us now?"_

" _Absolutely."_

* * *

"I hope she survives dinner," said Jeff as they drove away from the meet.

"I hope she remembers to push the buttons on the recorder in the right order," said Lester, "Or her survival will be the least of our problems. Have you called out the dogs yet?"

"They're on it," said Jeff. "They don't have much to report yet."

"All right," said Lester, a bit disappointed, but then he recalled who he was talking to. "What do you mean by 'much'?"

"Sperm count, things like that." Jeff handed Lester a little booklet filled with what looked like scratch marks but were in fact a practically unbreakable code, English as written by Jeff. "The ordinary stuff like kids' names and shoe sizes we got already."

Including the rap sheets. "Why would criminals like these be working with a witch, or any other kind of supernatural she-monster?" wondered Lester.

"Why would a witch be working with them?" asked Jeff. He slammed on the brakes.

In the headlights Lester saw a man so powerfully built he would probably have broken Loretta glaring at the two of them. He rolled down the window. "Apologies."

"If I had the time I would end you both," said the man in a low-pitched growl. "But tonight you get to live." He walked out of their lights and vanished in darkness.

"I hope someone ends him," muttered Jeff, putting the van in gear.

"Now, Jeffrey, what have I told you about the karmically imbalanced," said Lester, patting him on the arm.

"What have you told me?" asked Jeff.

"They're problems that solve themselves," said Lester. "No need to hope. For now we have to concentrate on finding these goombahs–is that the word, 'goombahs'? 'Gonzoes'?" He shook his head. "Whatever they are, we have to find them before someone else does." He pulled out his phone.

* * *

Next morning, at the Buy More…

Chuck held Rafe's phone in his hand, studying the design. He'd spent a good portion of last night trying to break through the encryptions without a lot of success. He couldn't call out, he could only wait for the guys they met yesterday to call in and play it from there. He started to get into character, to be the sort of person who used a phone like this one.

"Cool," said Hannah, seeing it from a distance and closing that distance. "Is it new?" She tried to take it from him.

He snatched it away, because that's what Rafe would have done. "Hands off, it's a tool of the trade."

Hannah looked at him funny. "What trade?"

Chuck, caught between her innocent question and his own attempts to act, think, and respond as a professional killer, flashed. He turned a hard, dark gaze her way and she backed off. "Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to."

* * *

Jeff and Lester watched her go from their position, currently stuck behind the counter trying to make gumbo a la Big Mike. "Interesting," said Lester, sawing at a carrot without making much headway. "A little more than she bargained for, perhaps?"

Jeff nodded. "Trouble in paradise."

"Something like that," said Lester. "Except totally different."

Big Mike came up, looking anxious. "Boys, this gumbo's just missing something." He looked where they were looking. "I was gonna ask Morgan. You think Bartowski knows gumbo?"

"Only if you want 'finger sandwiches'," said Lester, with a laugh. No one else laughed. Always unappreciated. "Perhaps you should try a cookbook…"

* * *

Chuck's phone rang. He put Miss Collateral Damage out of his attention and answered it. "Talk to me."

* * *

No one was looking at Chuck but Lester knew where all the mirrors in the store were. No one heard Chuck say 'two minutes' but Lester didn't have to. The second Chuck turned away, heading toward the back of the store, he raised his own phone and said, "Two minute warning."

* * *

Chuck paused inside the back door of the Buy More, slicked-back hair, stolen jacket, and all. He raised his phone to his lips, but stopped, wondering why. He worked alone. A car drove up behind the loading dock, but before Rafe, I mean, _Chuck_ could verify the occupants two other cars drove up, blocking off both approaches. Police leapt out, weapons pointed, and Rafe, that is, _Chuck_ saw his contacts get out, hands raised. He turned away from the door, annoyed.

How was he supposed to get his target's name now?

* * *

Jeff and Lester went to a local yogurt store to celebrate. Fortunately it was the blonde on duty again today.

Jeff scanned the menu board, and his eyes widened in delight. "Guacamole? I love that stuff."

"We'll take two large, please," said Lester, actually paying for his food this time. It was a feel-good sort of day.

"What's made you so happy?" asked Sarah, trying not to think about what she was doing. She'd only made that recipe on a bet.

"The witch's cohorts were just arrested," said Lester. For some reason this didn't make her as happy as it made him.

"End of the world averted," said Jeff, drooling as the green glop spiraled into his bowl.

Lester held up his phone. "Phone footage of the arrest to sell to the networks."

Sarah held out her hand. "Can I see it?"

Lester looked dubious. "Well, okay, but only because you were so helpful yesterday." He thought about yesterday, something else he wasn't fond of doing. "At least, you tried to be."

"You kidnapped me," said Sarah, handing Jeff his bowl without looking directly at it.

"No excuse," said Lester.

"Got any Worcestershire?" asked Jeff, pulling a spoon out of his pocket.

"It's a yogurt shop," said Sarah, filling a second bowl for Lester as she watched the footage of the arrest. Lester had positioned himself well to catch their faces, but there was another face she was looking for. She widened the image, looking for–there he was, his face showing through the window of the back door. No arrest was good, but now the chain was broken, they had no way to find out the target.

Back to square one. "That was a wonderful job," she said enthusiastically, handing over the second bowl. Jeff and Lester sucked it up, not usually getting praised for their little…hobby. "How did you find them?"

"Nothing to it," said Lester, more than willing to expand upon his genius, especially when it wasn't his. "They were spotted at this hotel, last night, very sloppy. Our network has been keeping tabs on them ever since. Plus we may have done a favor or two for some friends in the police."

"Friends?" asked Sarah, skeptically.

"Contacts," said Lester.

"Blackmail, is what I call it," said Jeff, wiping green yogurt from his chin. "They were gonna take Loretta."

"Until we showed them how useful we could be," added Lester. "Now, we look their way, every so often, and they look the other way the rest of the time."

 _So_ not her business. "So where was this hotel you spotted them at?"

* * *

Down in Castle…

Casey picked up the phone when the 'urgent and immediate' signal trilled. "What?" he snapped. Whatever he was hearing displeased him greatly, from the expression on his face. "What do you mean Gruber never arrived?"

He checked the monitors. Chuck was in the Buy More but he didn't see him anywhere, and it looked like Walker had customers for once. Dammit. He'd have to go it alone.

* * *

At the Double-O…

She couldn't get rid of her customers fast enough. She couldn't get rid of them at all, apparently the yogurt was a hit.

Trapped behind the counter, she put the relatively limited functions of her cash register console to good use, mapping out the locations of possible target sites. Rafe had a reputation as a marksman at extreme range, the only parameter she had. Only a small number of buildings qualified as possible targets, some more than others, and she ordered the list as best she could.

A message window popped up, urgent business from Casey. Dammit. She sent the list to her next most preferred choice.

* * *

At the Buy More…

Rafe, that is, _Chuck_ looked down when his pocket vibrated. He pulled out an ordinary piece-of-crap phone. Whoever it was, obviously not his original contact, had sent him a text, with a list of addresses. He left the building at a fast walk, mapping them out as he went. This many possible targets had to have something in common.

* * *

Somewhere…

Rafe Gruber checked his stolen phone's GPS signal again, and stopped. His phone was in motion. He'd have to wait until it settled before he could deal with the guy who thought he could pretend to be Rafe Gruber. He tossed the phone into the empty back seat of a passing taxi and walked away. Time for plan B.

* * *

In the Buy More parking lot…

Jeff wiped his mouth with his tie. "Finally, a decent flavor."

Lester nodded. "Yes, you'd almost think they were deliberately trying to drive away business, but now I think we–" He turned to look back at the store. "Closed?" His keen mind analyzed the situation and came to the only logical conclusion. "Fools that we are," he shouted. "We told her the location of the hotel! Now she's trying to get the credit for saving the world instead of us. But it won't do her any good, I have the footage of the arrest." He checked his phone, to relive that glorious moment, but the video wasn't there.

"She erased my footage." He grabbed Jeff's arm and dragged him along."See, Jeffrey, this is why I won't have anything to do with women."

"But why won't women have anything to do with you?"

Lester shrugged that off as irrelevant. "We have to head her off at the pass."

"I hate that cliché," said Jeff.

* * *

Somewhere else…

Casey frowned down at the display. He'd been tracking the dead agent's stolen phone, but the signal just changed direction. Rafe had changed course, not headed toward the Buy More anymore. He checked his tracker. Chuck wasn't at the Buy More anymore either, but the phone wasn't moving to intercept. Gruber must have sent it for a joyride.

He didn't see Walker's phone on the tracker. He hit the contact, and waited for her to pick up. And waited. And waited.

* * *

Sarah stared up at the sign for the Hotel Roosevelt, a crappy little three-star no doubt hoping to be confused with the Roosevelt Hotel, which had a much higher pedigree. She checked her phone, hoping for an excuse not to have to go inside, but this area had no signal. She buttoned her grey blazer over the orange tank-top, trying to look professional but not 'oldest professional'.

The desk clerk took one look at her outfit as she walked through the doorway. "You here to see Miss Jones?"

* * *

Chuck approached the front desk of the hotel he'd placed at the geometric center of the several buildings on the list. "Hi, I'm here to meet some actors from the East coast, they should have checked in last night." He gave her a couple of made-up names.

Not surprisingly, she couldn't find them in the register. He leaned close and said in a low voice, "They get type-cast as hoodlums a lot, you know how it is. I try not to mention it." He gave her a number-two smile.

The clerk did indeed know how it was, and checked her screen for the previous night. One of the check-ins had a note attached, 'keep an eye on these, look like thugs'. Fortunately the screen was angled so guests couldn't see it. She smiled at Chuck, and gave him the room number.

* * *

Agent Jones opened the door. "Agent Walker?"

"Agent Jones," said Sarah, noting the other woman's relative state of undress. "May I come in?"

Jones looked less than happy at the request, but she took it as an order from a superior and complied. "Why?"

"This building is on my list of possible targets for Rafe Gruber," said Sarah, entering the room in spite of the lack of courtesy. She went to the window and stared across at the high-rise in the distance.

" _This_ dump?" Jones waved at the not-so-luxurious room. "A target for a shooter like him? Who on Earth could that be?" She went to the window. "What are you looking at?"

The door to the bedroom opened and Daniel Shaw stepped out, wearing nothing but a towel. "Hey, Sam?"

* * *

Jeff and Lester shuffled through the lobby, fiddling with their ties and straightening their hair nervously. "Can I help you?" asked the clerk, expecting the answer to be 'no'. Her finger was poised to bring out security.

"We're looking for this man," said Lester, holding up a head shot of Chuck.

"You're from the studio?"

Lester took a deep breath and smiled. "Yes, we're from the studio. PAs."

"Assistants to the PAs," muttered Jeff. The clerk could readily believe that.

"He's needed back on set."

"And the others?"

"Them too."

She sighed, taking her finger off the security button. "Seventh floor."

* * *

Agents Walker and Jones both turned. They looked at each other. "You too?" asked Jones. "For real? 'Cause I'm not."

Sarah shrugged. "I've had a lot of names, but Sam was the first. Still, I feel more real as Sarah than I ever did as Sam."

"Did you ever tell Chuck?" asked Shaw.

"No," said Sarah, her fingers caressing her charm bracelet. "I never did."

* * *

" _I never did."_

She never had to, thought Chuck as he stared at Sarah through the scope, listened to Sarah with the earphones. _There is no Sam, not any more._

He pulled his finger away from the trigger, raised his head to look at the weapon he knew how to use so well. _Where am I?_ He stared at the back of the hotel, vaguely aware of its location. He stood up and turned around.

Jeff threw a cup of water in his face.

* * *

Downstairs…

Rafe Gruber walked into the lobby. "Touch that security button," he snarled at the clerk, "Touch _anything_ , and I will end you." She raised her hands up to her shoulders. "Where is he, and don't act like you don't know who I'm talking about."

She pointed upward. "Seventh floor."

* * *

A good distance away…

"For God's sake, Daniel, go put some clothes on," said Jones.

"But we were just about to take a–"

"Well obviously not _now_!" Jones buried her face in her hands.

Sarah headed for the door. "I'll just see you at work, then, shall I?"

* * *

Back at the five-star…

Casey walked into the lobby. The clerk ducked down behind the desk, yelling, "Seventh floor!"

* * *

Upstairs…

"What the _hell_ ," said Chuck. "I just–"

"Do _not_ tell me you just took a shower!" said Lester. "I won't believe you."

Chuck picked up a cloth, smelling faintly of machine oil. He flipped it over and wiped his face. "Well of course I didn't–"

A booted foot kicked the door in. Rafe Gruber pointed at…one of them. "You!"

Jeff looked around. "Who?"

"Hugh?" asked Lester. He looked at Chuck. "You?"

"Nu." Chuck shook his head. "I mean, no. It's me, Chuck. Thanks for the water, it really cleared my head."

Rafe stepped forward and grabbed Lester's skinny neck. "Come here, you."

Jeff pointed at Lester, grinning. "See, I knew you were you!"

Rafe let go of Lester, staring at his hand. "Ew." Jeff pulled the spoon from his pocket and threw it, hitting Rafe in the eye. "Ow!"

"Shut up," said Casey, punching Rafe in the face. He collapsed like a ton of bricks. Casey glared around the room impartially. "All of you."

Lester threw a cup of water in his face.

Casey raised his fist with a grunt of anger.

He stopped when Jeff and Lester started cheering. They high-fived each other. "It worked!"

* * *

 **A/N2** I know there are some of you who really like the hero shot, but this is the silly version. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N** Not a lot left from canon, and it was all bad, so I'll have to get creative here. Something short to end the episode.

* * *

" _I hope she survives dinner._ _"_

" _You kidnapped me."_

" _Seventh floor."_

" _It worked!"_

* * *

Casey opened his hand. "What worked?"

Jeff and Lester stopped dancing around. "Our plan worked, John," said Lester, swaggering into Casey's personal space. "My holy water worked. You were a zombie slave to the witch-queen of the Buy More and we…" He flicked the collar of Casey's shirt "…saved you."

Casey looked past him to Jeff and, more important, Chuck, standing behind them all making a sort of a 'roll with it' gesture. "I don't remember anything like that," he said, the best compromise he could make.

Lester looked a bit disappointed that John's gratitude wasn't more obvious. "Of course you don't, Johnny, what part of 'zombie slave' did you miss?"

Case took a deep breath, for patience, and let it rumble past his vocal cords on the way out. "And you saved me? Chuck, too?"

"We saved Chuck, too, if that's what you mean," said Lester. "Chuck had no part in saving you. Just us."

"Mm-hmm. So who's watching over the Buy More?"

Lester took a step back. "I tried to free Morgan Grimes first. It didn't stick. We had to count on the natural incorruptibility of the greenshirts."

"That'd slow anybody down," said Casey. "So what's your plan from here, genius? I assume you have one."

Lester began to look nervous. "There was just us," he said. "We had to prioritize."

"Understood," said Casey. Not a bad strategy, and he couldn't really fault their tactics, all things considered. He wiped the water from his face. "You've managed, temporarily, to stop this Mata Hari from reaching out past the walls, but you know she'll try again. You need to kill the hive before the hive kills you."

"Destroy the queen," said Jeff.

"Exactly," said Casey. "And I know just how to do it."

* * *

At the Buy More…

Morgan Grimes sat down at his desk, checking his emails as usual. One in particular stuck out, as it was meant to, with red 'high priority' icons all over it. 'Notice of Violation', said the subject line, and he clicked on it to find out who was violating what, so he could put a stop to it.

He stiffened as he read, his eyes getting wide. Just then, someone knocked on his door, the only person in the building who used the right pattern. "Come in."

Hannah came in, all excited. "Hi, Morgan, got a second?"

"Yeah, yeah," said Morgan absently, still reading the email.

"I know this might seem like it's fast," said Hannah, sitting down in front of him, "But after you had me over for dinner the other night, I just have to ask. My parents will be in town tonight, and I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner with _us_."

"Um," said Morgan, looking up at her, "Actually, we need to think about that, you and I." We indicated his monitor. "I just got an email from the head office. Somebody told them about us, and they're on my case about manager-employee fraternization. I didn't even know we had a policy."

"Oh, no," she said mournfully. "I didn't get you in trouble, did I?"

He sighed, unhappy that she was unhappy. "Not yet, and I'm perfectly capable of getting myself into trouble, thank you. This isn't your fault, except that, well, you know...you're worth it."

* * *

Down in Castle...

Daniel Shaw sat at the desk, looking at the monitor, displaying the scene in Morgan's office. The little man seemed upset about something, and Shaw could just guess what. Morgan still had so many blessings to count, and he didn't even notice them. For an idle moment Shaw considered making him aware, but dismissed the whole scheme.

He was here to train Chuck.

* * *

In the Buy More...

Chuck walked over, cup of water in hand, to the Nerd Herd desk where Hannah sat, talking with someone on the phone. She looked upset.

"Trouble in paradise?" asked Chuck, when it was clear her conversation had ended. He put the cup down on the desk.

"I've never heard Morgan's office called that before," said Hannah, with a small smile. "He's in a bit of trouble, because of me. Manager-employee fraternization issues."

"Ah," said Chuck.

"So I'm quitting."

* * *

Outside...

 _"So I'm quitting."_ The sound quality from the speakers wasn't the best, but they could make that out.

Lester looked horrified. "No," he shouted, "We can't let her escape..." He started to rise.

Casey shoved him back down. "Listen and learn, idiot."

* * *

Inside...

"You're leaving?" asked Chuck, sadly. "But I just brought your traditional new Nerd Herder's mug." He turned the mug of water, to display the logo and her name under it.

"Oh, that's sweet," said Hannah, drawing her finger across the letters of her name. "But I'm not exactly leaving. Be kind of pointless if I did, since the whole point of quitting the job is to keep the man." She indicated the phone. "I was just talking to the curator at the museum. He wants someone to keep an eye on his equipment, and he seems to think I'm qualified to handle it, for some reason."

Chuck grinned. "That's good," said stepping back, leaving the mug where it was. "Well, I guess I'll be seeing you around, then."

Hannah watched him go, confused as ever by Chuck Bartowski. What a weird guy, she thought to herself, taking a sip of her water.

* * *

Outside, in the van...

 _"Guys, she's drinking from the mug,"_ came Chuck's voice over the speakers.

"Yes!" said Jeff. "The witch has been neutralized!"

"Good," said Casey. "Can we go to work now, please?"

Lester slid open the door, letting in a breath of fresh air. "Certainly, John. Certainly."

* * *

 **A/N2** Hopefully the world will never need to be saved by Jeff and Lester again, but if it does, it's a comfort to know that these two stalwart heroes are there. I hope you're comforted, I know I am. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	35. Namedropper

**A/N** Turning the Beard upside-down and inside-out. Making stuff up. No whiny Chuck here. Hope you don't mind.

* * *

" _What worked?"_

" _You're worth it."_

" _Listen and learn, idiot."_

" _Can we go to work now?"_

* * *

"Anyone you like."

The underling considered the words, looking for a trap. His leader wasn't known for giving his men such freedom when carrying out his orders. Targets were targeted for a reason. "Anyone?"

"It feels odd, I know," said the leader. "I do not have you killed for your insolence only because it feels odd to me too." He transmitted a file. "There are certain considerations of location, timing, and plausibility, but when it comes to choosing the actual person, you are directed to use your own judgment."

The agent looked over the parameters. No name, no picture. Not even a place, just a set of carefully bounded zones. He didn't need to know why they were bounded the way they were and so he didn't think about it. He didn't need to know why a target was needed and so he didn't care. A zone

was a zone, a target was a target. He would examine the zones, he would select a target, and he would…do nothing more.

It would be an interesting exercise.

* * *

The leader watched his underling leave the room. He was a capable agent, and the leader regretted the use of him for this. Independent thought led to independent ambition, though. The leader had no use for ambitious underlings, and less desire to have to watch his back. That was a matter for later, though, and the leader had other steps of his own to take, to make that moment come to pass.

* * *

Some time later, in the target city…

The agent decided to take a break in his quest. Since he'd come here, he'd examined three of the six zones and found them wanting in opportunities. Time to rest, rehydrate, and reconsider. He pulled his car into the next lot that boasted an establishment where he might do all three at once. Some local shop called Orange Orange.

The counter-person made the usual polite inquiries. He looked at her name-tag then up into her face. Eyes, hair, cheekbones, chin…she reminded him of someone. "Well, Sam, I'm thinking…" He looked at the board. "Is that guacamole?"

Her face grew a bit mask-like. "It is."

"In slot one?"

She shrugged. "It's our best seller."

A quick scan of the board revealed the usual array of flavors and toppings. They didn't interest him, not as much as blending in with the crowd. He'd had worse liquid lunches. "I'll take the guac."

While she busied herself with his order, the agent scanned the notices on the bulletin board. A few were of interest, until he compared their locations with his zone limitations. Finally only one remained, and he had the notice memorized by the time the counter-person said his order was ready. He paid her, thanked her, and left.

She pressed a button on the register.

" _This is Shaw."_

"This is Jones," she replied, maintaining an impersonal tone. "I just had an interesting encounter."

" _Interesting in what way, Sam?"_

Ah, he was alone. "I had a customer."

" _That_ is _unusual."_

She pressed on in the face of his blinding wit. "He bought a guac, Daniel."

" _He what?"_

"After I told him it was our best seller."

" _It's your_ only _seller."_

"I didn't mention that part," said Jones. "And he called me Sam."

" _What's so odd about that?"_ asked Shaw. _"It is your name."_

"Those idiots from the Buy More stare at my chest every day, I doubt either of them know it."

" _Hmm, you've got a couple of very good points there,"_ said Shaw. _"I take it you're thinking enemy action?"_ He didn't wait for her to respond. _"Send me his photo and whatever else you've got, I'll run it past Carmichael."_

She hid her displeasure behind a professional-sounding, "Very good." She had a face shot from internal security and the details of his car, and they all went down the Carmichael drain.

" _Good call, Jones."_

Must be somebody with him, probably Carmichael. "Thank you, sir." The light on her board died, the connection ended. Daniel never was much on the little courtesies.

* * *

A few minutes later, down in Castle…

Chuck came down the stairs from the Home Theater entrance. "What's going on, Agent Shaw?" They'd had their sparring session already. Shaw had rolled back the clock on the training regimen after the whole Rafe Gruber episode.

"You tell me, Chuck," said Shaw, trying to sound friendly. "Sam upstairs just reported a possible contact." A monitor flickered to life, showing the images Jones had sent.

Chuck flashed. "Well, he's a bad guy, isn't he?"

Shaw opened a folder and put the images into it. "How bad?" he asked, opening a document.

"Ring bad," said Chuck, and Shaw started making more notes for the new file. "An assassin in their recruitment branch. I guess he takes care of the people who say no." He looked more closely at the picture of the car. "Isn't that the Buy More parking lot?"

"Recruitment?" said Shaw. "They must have discovered a vulnerability on someone. Check the files on all the agents in LA, see if you can find out who they might be after. I'll let the others know, and start a trace on that car."

* * *

Across town…

Drs. Devon and Ellie Woodcombe waited on line with more patience than most of the others on line with them. "Is the whole weekend going to be like this?" asked Ellie.

"Relax, El," said her husband in his soothing baritone. "We had our dance. Now it's time to pay the piper."

"If I'd known they would tap us to attend this year's conference, I'd have refused the tickets and stayed home." The line moved and she dragged her bag two feet down the hall. "We could spend this same weekend lounging around a pool somewhere."

"Just think about Pa–"

Down the hall, a man tripped over a luggage dolly and fell onto a potted plant, shattering the pot. Everyone on line tensed, willing to help if help was needed, but not willing to risk being sent to the end of the line if it was not.

Devon ran down the hall, leaving Ellie to hold their places. She watched her husband do what he did best, making whatever part of the world was lucky enough to have him in it as right as it could be. Soon enough, the man was upright, clearly uninjured, and shaking Devon's hand.

* * *

"Thanks, Doctor…Woodcombe," said the agent. "Have a nice convention."

"I'll do my best," said the blond god as he walked away.

The agent looked over the line, full of beaten-down nobodies. The helpful doctor really stood out in that crowd. He'd do.

* * *

A few minutes later…

"What's this all about, Shaw?" asked Casey as he came out of the tunnel. He held up his hand, fingers close together. "I was this close to selling my fourth BeastMaster this week. A personal best."

"Sorry about that, Colonel, but we've got a new player in town."

"Another mission?" Casey looked at Chuck. "You've been on fire this week. We should have you impersonate assassins more often."

Chuck remembered the mindset of the killer he'd almost become. "Please don't." He looked up as the door to the Double O puffed open.

Two ladies came through, both in orange and white. One was smiling, one was not. "Hi guys," said Jones excitedly.

"Sarah, are you okay?" asked Chuck as she came down the stairs more slowly than Jones.

"Just tired, you've been keeping us pretty busy lately," she said. "What's up?"

"The Ring is in town, possibly with an eye toward turning one of our own," said Shaw, putting up the images again, and a map of the city. He circled a small area with a laser pointer. "The signal from the rented car places him at this location."

"Kind of obvious, don't you think?" asked Casey.

"Only if he had reason to think we were looking for him," said Shaw. "Clearly he doesn't, and we're going to keep it that way. I propose a four-person team. Sarah–"

"Can I suggest Agent Jones in my place?" asked Sarah. Shaw was in charge of Ring-related operations, so this was his call. "Our skill sets overlap in this area, and she's been stuck behind the counter long enough."

Shaw looked at Jones, practically vibrating in place. "I have no objection. In fact, I was about to suggest it." He paused, but then continued on in his C-in-C voice. "So, a four-person team, me and Sarah, I mean, _Sam_ , as a vacationing couple, Casey as backup, and Chuck to provide on-site analysis." He looked around for any questions. "Let's get to work."

* * *

Post-meeting, in a prep room where Shaw and Jones were not…

"So what do you think's going on?" asked Casey, as he and Chuck filled their respective bags with gear. "Why'd he bench Sarah?"

Chuck shrugged, not very successful at hiding his own discomfort. "She asked him to."

"She beat him to the punch," translated Casey. "And what's up with _that_?"

Chuck looked up in the general direction of the Double O. "I wish I knew." He was pretty sure he did.

* * *

Sarah sat behind the counter of the Orange Orange, not bored. She was too annoyed with Daniel Shaw, calling her Sam like that. Perhaps she should be grateful to him, for putting a literal name to what had been itching under her skin for days.

No. Annoyed is best. He'd play it off like a slip of the tongue, of course he would, but she knew what he was really doing. It was possible he did it accidentally, but while she would never call Shaw a great spy, or even a very good one, he had enough skill to not make slips like that unless he wanted to. Wanted to use her name in front of Chuck, wanted to make her wallow in guilt, over not having told it to Chuck first, or at all.

The difference between Chuck and Shaw, however, between a great spy and a merely competent one, was that Chuck hadn't needed her to tell him anything. So Daniel Shaw had missed the mark on that one, but he'd hit another, all unintended. She remembered standing by the window, with Jones in that robe. Remembered the door opening behind them, Shaw's voice saying, "Sam."

 _And she'd turned._

Of all the names on all the women in all the world, he had to say that one. How long since she'd thought of herself that way? Been that girl, the girl who'd made such a wrong, wrong choice? She raised her arm, stroking her doubled hearts. Past and present, present and…future?

The bell on the door dinged, and she looked up. "Hi, Morgan."

He looked around the empty room. "Hi, Sarah, Chuck's not here, is he?" He stepped on his own question. "Good."

"You're avoiding him?" asked Sarah.

"No, I'm looking for you." Morgan dropped his managerial attitude. "You see, Chuck and me, we've known each other most of our lives. We went through puberty together. That awkward stage after puberty. Our awkward high school years, his awkward college years. Our previous awkward Buy More years and our current awkward Buy More years. And that's what makes this conversation so very…"

"Awkward?"

"Necessary," said Morgan. "As his best friend, I approved of you to take over that most coveted position. He lights up around you, becomes the man we both know he can and should be around you. Having seen what happened to him after Jill, I shudder to think what sort of a bathrobe-wearing, cheeseball-eating, bearded wreck he'd become if you broke him too." He shuddered.

"I have no intention of 'breaking' Chuck…"

"Good," said Morgan, pointing at her wrist. "Then you shouldn't have any problem telling me all about Sam."

* * *

 _Sam who?_ Sarah stared down, the charm dangling there. What could she tell Morgan about Sam?

No, really, what _could_ she tell Morgan about Sam? Sam was the backstory to her life, her real, CIA life. A life full of lies and deceit, with poor Sam buried at the bottom of it. Even she didn't know that story all that well, but with Chuck's help she could. Might. He always said he didn't care about her past, but of course he did. He would never pry, but any crumb, any fragment of her life that came his way he would take and hold and treasure, as if the completeness of his own life depended on the completeness of hers. She could and would tell him anything.

She couldn't tell Morgan anything, whether she wanted to or not. Her spy life always got in the way. Even Chuck had had to go pretty deep into the spy world, like some spy-Orpheus, to find his spy-Eurydice and lead her back into the light.

Wait a minute. Was that a nerd-metaphor? How cool was that! Where did it come from? She and Chuck didn't really do a lot of Greek mythology together, and how did she know it was Greek, or mythology?

She looked up, and saw Morgan still there, waiting for an answer to his question. Right, who was Sam? Apparently, she had even less idea than she'd thought.

* * *

Morgan watched her face go through a number of contortions, with only confusion as a result. No words past her perfect lips. When she finally shrugged in defeat, he nodded, and braced himself. "I take no pleasure in this, I want you to know that," he said softly, "But I'm afraid I have to challenge you, Sarah Walker. I have to challenge for the right to be Chuck's best friend."

* * *

 **A/N2** I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	36. Chapter 36

**A/N** I didn't really plan on doing a best-friend challenge, but the idea seemed to resonate with a lot of those who left comments, so I'll see what I can come up with.

* * *

" _Anyone you like."_

" _He called me Sam."_

" _Let's get to work."_

" _I have to challenge you, Sarah Walker."_

* * *

At the Orange-Orange…

She heard the back door of the freezer crack open, even as the front door bell marked Morgan's departure. The register had a monitor for the stairs, just as the stairs had a monitor for the store. So she wasn't taken by surprise when she heard Chuck's voice. "What was he here for?"

Sarah inspected her bracelet closely. "He wanted to know about Sam."

Chuck smiled, safely hidden from view by anyone but her, and she wasn't looking at him. "Well, he should have come to me, I know all about her."

"As much as anyone does," said Sarah to his profile on her monitor. "More than me, even, and what little I do know is Chuck-classified." By Chuck, for Chuck, because of Chuck. "Morgan got very upset when I wouldn't tell him anything."

Chuck lost the smile. "Oh, no…"

"He challenged me to a duel."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather come on the mission?" asked Chuck, sounding concerned. "You might get lucky and meet the Ring assassin first."

Sarah laughed. "So I can either steal Jones' moment of glory in order to play newlywed with Shaw, or I can stay and fight for what's mine." She put a finger on her chin and gazed up at the ceiling. "Hm, let me think."

Chuck tried again. "He's very determined."

"So am I," said Sarah. "And I have resources he doesn't have." She stroked the register, and by extension, Castle, and by extension, everything she knew and had done in her entire spy career. "Maybe you could–"

Chuck took a step back, flashing a quick look at the monitor there. "Ohhh!"

Sarah recognized the exaggerated cry of distress, but knew it had nothing to do with cheese. They didn't do cheese, although with the success of the guac maybe they should. "What?"

"Too late. Everybody's ready, have to go, love you, 'bye." Chuck ducked back into the freezer.

Sarah sat on her stool, staring at her bracelet. _Love you. 'Bye._ The story of her life, except for the 'love you' part. That was new, that was…nice. 'Love you' plus 'bye' equaled 'going away, and coming back'. Something to look forward to, that coming back.

She looked forward, into the lot, and world outside, and the Buy More, part of that world. And Morgan, part of the Buy More. Mission-critical resources came on-line, and she sat up, no longer tired. "Challenge accepted," said the Ice Queen. She flipped on the sonics.

* * *

Down in Castle…

Sarah's phone rang. "Chuck? Is something wrong?" He shouldn't be calling her on an op.

" _No,"_ said Chuck. _"Mr. and Mrs. Beautiful Couple are just checking in, and Casey's off playing telephone repairman. I'm beginning to see why he grumps about being stuck in the van all the time. Do you have any idea what a small percentage of my awareness I'm using right now?"_

"Next time bring a comic book."

" _Graphic novels, please, and they're too much work. You're a much bigger bang for a much smaller buck, plus you won't mind if I have to hang up on you suddenly."_

"Oh, I'd mind," said Sarah, aware of just how much it would bother her if he suddenly dropped off the network. That had happened too often in the past for her to not know, but this time he was in the van, safe as houses. "I'd just understand."

" _That's my girl."_

"Your girl, huh?"

" _Yes, but in a semi-sort of-craftsman-y way, not possession,"_ said Chuck. _"My girl, my real girl, as opposed to my kickass ninja spy handler. That one wouldn't mind, she'd just react."_

True. Wait. She looked up at the monitor.

" _So what are you up to, real girl?"_

"Spying," said Sarah brightly. "On Morgan."

" _That's cheating."_

"Told you," said Sarah. "All's fair in…in…" She puffed into the microphone. "Dammit."

" _I am both understanding and patient,"_ said Chuck. _"So what's Morgan up to?"_

"Nothing," said Sarah, grateful for the change of topic. He'd probably planned it that way, or something. "He and the Wonder Twins are listening in on Big Mike's office."

" _No more Saturday cartoons for you."_

Suddenly the screen showed a frenzy of activity. Lester started doing pushups, but she wasn't sure what the others were supposed to be doing. "What the hell?"

" _What?"_

"If they were up against competent adversaries, they'd have been so busted, but fortunately this is the Buy More," said Sarah. "Big Mike caught them red-handed, but he was talking to a bunch of suits and didn't notice. These guys are trying to buy the store."

Chuck paused a moment before responding. _"Do we believe that?"_

"No, we do not," said Sarah, tasking the monitors to follow the new guys. "It's barely worth the effort, thanks to Morgan and Casey, but you can bet the CIA has ears out for any such acquisition plans. You should have been telling me. Us. Them. Their inspection team just came in the door."

" _That's fast."_

"Too fast, if you ask me," said Sarah, trying to keep up with all the moving targets at once, using a much larger percentage of her awareness. "I have to go."

" _So do I. We're all checked in, time to start scanning. Keep me in the loop."_

"Will do."

Sarah hung up, putting her suddenly-freed-up brain power to work making a report for the General, including head shots. Then she made the mistake of looking up. Morgan was heading out the door. "Uh-oh." She hit the send button and ran upstairs, killing the sonics as she settled into her seat.

A few seconds later, about as long as it took a short, agitated man to cross a parking lot, a short agitated Morgan walked into her store. "Challenge number one," he said loudly. "Will Chuck take your call at any time, day or night?"

He'd better not. She wondered if Morgan had already tried. Points for courage if he had. She picked up her phone and showed him Chuck's smiling face as she pressed the button. The phone rang, but no Chuck. "Apparently not," she said, trying to sound annoyed.

Morgan leaned on the counter. "Me neither," he said, "So that's a tie. Keep trying, though."

"Why?" asked Sarah.

"Some guys in the Buy More, thinking about buying. Chuck has to get back here, even if he is mostly independent. They're interviewing the whole staff. Lester's in there right now."

"You know, Morgan, I hate to say this, best-friend challenge and all, but you really are a good friend," said Sarah, "All the way over here, while Lester's over there, probably spilling his guts."

Morgan raised his head, eyes wide, suddenly aware that he didn't have a Stanford degree. "Crap, you're right." He ran out the door.

Sarah dialed up the sonics. "Back to work."

* * *

Meanwhile, in the back of the van…

Chuck listened in on the Ring agent's call as the tracer did its job. _"He's in conference room two, you can't miss him. He's the one with the hair."_ There we go, room 4305. He passed the info to Casey. Then he pulled up the schematics of the hotel so his partners could saunter casually past conference room two without having to ask where it was.

'The one with the hair'? What was going on in conference room two?

* * *

Down in Castle…

"Where is the rest of your team, Agent Walker?" asked Beckman.

"Jones was on duty when a Ring agent came into the store and bought our most popular flavor."

"The guac?" asked Beckman, with a shudder. "Jones fell for it?"

"Yes," said Sarah, "Although, given her experience level, it wasn't a bad pickup. Chuck identified him and Shaw decided to follow up."

Beckman sniffed. "Well, at least he had the good sense to leave you in place. You're quite correct, Agent Walker. There are no plans in motion to acquire the Buy More by any legitimate interests. We would have quashed them if there were. Agent Shaw, it seems, has a taste for herring."

* * *

Devon shifted uncomfortably in his seat when his phone buzzed with an incoming message. _Go to the men's room. Chuck._ He shifted over to whisper in Ellie's ear. "All this talk of urinary tract infections has given my bladder ideas. Hold my place?"

"Against all comers," said Ellie with a yawn.

Once free of the meeting, Devon looked for the nearest bathroom. As he washed his hands Chuck came out of a stall. "What are you doing here, Chuck?"

Chuck held up a picture of the guac-buying Ring agent. "Have you seen this man today, Devon?"

"Yeah, we were on line and he tripped over a plant. I helped him up."

A line full of doctors at a medical convention. Chuck nodded, and raised his watch to his mouth. "Not Devon, guys. Just the first helpful person he came across. This smells like a setup to me."

Devon looked concerned. "Chuck, what's going–?"

Chuck raised a hand as he was listening to two people talk at once. "Aborting." He looked at Devon. "Enjoy your conference." He headed for the door.

"Are we in danger?"

"Nope," said Chuck. "Just…wrong place, wrong time."

Devon wiped his hands dry. "You got that right."

* * *

Sarah walked into the Buy More, holding a bag. She looked around, and saw just about everyone clustered over by the cash registers, so she sauntered casually over. "Hey guys," she said, "You didn't come over like usual today." She lifted the bag. "Brought your favorite."

Jeff took the bag, as Lester exclaimed, "We're doomed."

"Yes, but it's a green doom," said Jeff, handing out spoons.

"That's as good a name for it as any," said Sarah. "Why are you doomed?"

"The boys lived up to their reputations," said Big Mike. He pointed to yet another parabolic microphone, with a recorder built in. Lester hit play.

" _Grimes said this guy Chuck is his best friend, and it's clearly this 'Chuck' that we want. We can use both of them to our advantage,"_ said one voice.

" _What do you want me to do about the others?"_ asked a second, deeper voice.

" _I think we need to be conservative here,"_ said the first. _"Terminate the rest."_

"I just got this job back," said Big Mike, practically in tears. He didn't know the danger he was in, and Sarah couldn't tell him. "They haven't even seen Chuck, but they're keeping him." He shook his head in wonder. "I wish I had a friend like Morgan."

"We should have been nicer to the gnome," agreed Jeff sadly.

Sarah looked around. "Where is Morgan?" She left the others to their lamentations and yogurt, moving into the empty store. Morgan's 'office' was a former broom closet somewhere down this–

"Sarah?" said Morgan, jumping out at her.

"Morgan?" she said. "The others are all looking for you. They've got good–"

Morgan surprised her by putting a hand over her mouth, so surprised that she didn't reflexively break it in three places. "Me first," he said. "What you got is nothing compared to what I got."

Suddenly realizing where his hand was, he took it away. "There is a secret underground CIA base under the Buy More."

* * *

Sarah let him babble about 'bad guys', marveling at the timing. If she hadn't left Castle, or the Double O for that matter, on her little recon mission, she could have captured these guys as they went in. Or perhaps they would have captured her. The scanner in the lockers had always been the weakest point in their defenses, too visible to have real security built into it.

She had to get back to the store, right now. She should be able to gas the place, if they didn't kill all the internal security systems first. "Um, I have to go…" she said, pointing a finger in some direction.

"I know," said Morgan. "You're thinking this is some lame 'Best friend challenge' stunt, but it's not." He grabbed Sarah's wrist before she could pull further away. "I'll prove it to you."

* * *

 **A/N2** I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	37. Chapter 37

**A/N** The Buy More scenes were good fun, so I left them alone.

* * *

" _He challenged me to a duel."_

" _All's fair in…in…"_

" _I wish I had a friend like Morgan."_

" _I'll prove it to you."_

* * *

In a black van…

"She's not answering her cell," said Casey.

"No landline connection, either," said Chuck. "She's on her own."

Grunt. "Fortunately she has an awful lot of 'her own' to be on."

"Assuming she hasn't been captured already," said Shaw.

"We saw this coming a mile away, Shaw," said Chuck. "Or at least Sarah and I did. She won't be blind-sided by anyone."

* * *

In the Buy More…

Sarah stumbled after Morgan, unprepared for the strength of his determination. She pulled back, dragging him to a halt. "Morgan, wait. If there really is a CIA base below us, then they're CIA-level bad guys. We work retail. We need to call the police."

Morgan gave her a cunning look. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing, Sarah Walker," he said. "You're trying to make me back down. But there really is a base down there and I was really in it, so I say, absolutely, call the police."

 _That was easy._ Sarah pulled out her phone. "I have no signal."

"Ah-hah," said Morgan. "Cut communications, bad guy 101. So you see, there's only us."

"And a store full of your coworkers."

"You would bring Jeff and Lester in on this?" asked Morgan. "That's like sending Squirrel Girl out to defeat Thanos."

"Squirrel Girl _did_ defeat Thanos," said Sarah. Good God, was she actually defending those two?

"Yes, but no one in their right minds would _send her_ to do it," said Morgan. "The smart play is to get everyone else out of here, now. You and I are America's last line of defense, and America begins with them."

"It does?" said Sarah. No wonder Fulcrum wanted to take over. "Fine, you and me."

Morgan offered her his fist to bump, which she reluctantly did. "Let's do this."

* * *

Five minutes later…

"Well, that could have gone better," said Sarah. A Buymorian revolution, for God's sake. She'd stopped revolutions with a fork, in the past. Somehow she sensed that that wouldn't work here.

"Yeah," said Morgan. "But look at the bright side, at least they're all facing the wrong way."

"True," said Sarah. A small mercy. "Wait. The wrong way for what?"

"For me to gear up, of course," said Morgan.

"What about me?"

Morgan just gestured at the whole long length of her. "They'll ignore me, they're used to it," he said. "Wait here." He slipped around the corner into the store itself.

Sarah took her phone out, trying to call her team. Still no connection, but her emergency beacon should be able to punch through anything, so she pressed it, knowing Chuck would understand. She heard Morgan coming up behind her, trying to be stealthy.

"Here," he said, and she jumped, like a yogurt-seller would. "Some Mace. Emmet had a stockpile. And a walkie-talkie, don't lose that. I'm not sure how much of the rest of this stuff you can use."

Looking at the collection of kitchenware and other assorted junk he'd draped himself with, she couldn't help but agree. Chuck made better weapons out of hairspray. "Maybe we should rethink this."

"I'd love to," said Morgan. "I'd love to let someone else do this, but Big Mike is leading his own revolution and Chuck's not here. So all I can do is ask myself, what would Chuck do, and try to do that."

Sarah smiled. "You could have worse role models." She held out a fist, and he bumped it. "Let's do this."

* * *

Five minutes later…

Morgan and Sarah sat back to back on the floor of the dojo in Castle, hands cuffed uncomfortably behind them. "Well, that could have gone better," said Morgan.

Sarah didn't agree. They were inside, after all, which she couldn't have done on her own, even if she'd wanted to give the game away to her partner, which she didn't. "You did great," she said, glad that the head bad guy was stropping his razor in front of her and not Morgan.

"You're all alone, agent," said the leader. "We've got your whole base locked down."

"Who's an agent?" asked Morgan. "He thinks we're spies."

"That's ridiculous," said Sarah, sounding afraid. "We work retail. I sell yogurt."

"Exactly right," said Morgan. "So you can just let us go and keep doing whatever it is you're doing. We really won't wow that's a sharp-looking razor."

Leader knelt down in front of Sarah, razor in hand. "We've scanned the entire base, looking for what we want, but we haven't found it." He waved the razor casually. "I really hope you know where it is, otherwise this could get…unpleasant."

"What's unpleasant is your breath," said Sarah. "I've got a guacamole and Greek feta combo at the store, should clear that right up."

"Now I know that you're an agent," said leader, with a smarmy grin. "Only someone who'd been through the CIA's torture school could come up with something so heinous. Thanks for the idea." He stood up, and moved around to kneel in front of Morgan, brandishing his razor. "Clearly, no amount of damage I could inflict with this little tool will break that kind of spirit, so I'll just have to torture you instead."

"Why me?" said Morgan, staring cross-eyed at the approaching blade.

"Because you made the mistake of telling me that you were the best friend of Charles–"

"He's not Chuck's best friend," snapped Sarah. "I am."

"Don't listen to her," said Morgan quickly. "I'm the one you want to torture, not her."

Sarah dug an elbow into his back. "Morgan, what are you doing?"

Morgan ignored her. "I've known Chuck my entire life. He's my best friend, my brother, since we were 6 years old," he said. Then he gulped. "And I'm protecting his heart, because that's what best friends do."

"That's what _I'm_ trying to do," said Sarah.

Leader pressed his blade against Morgan's face. "Then you'd better start talking, agent."

"We're best friends, not spies," said Morgan.

"Then I don't need either one of you," said Leader. "But since you've known him the longest, Mr. Grimes, you'll go first."

Morgan felt Sarah take a deep breath, and say, "I am–"

"Shut up Sarah," he yelled. " _I_ am–"

"–a member…of a joint NSA-CIA black ops team, stationed here in Burbank–"

"Okay, I'm not one of those," said Morgan, as the blade lifted away from his face.

"I have a level 6 clearance, and my code name…is Sarah Walker." Sarah cleared her throat. "I'm sorry, Morgan, but I'm a spy."

* * *

In the Orange Orange…

"Anything?" said Shaw, coming out of the freezer unit.

"No," said Chuck, typing on the register's keyboard. "They've locked us out, overridden our security access. I'm trying to hack my way in, while Casey goes to the source."

* * *

In Castle…

"You're a spy?" said Morgan, in a small voice.

"To quote our mutual friend," said Sarah, "Don't freak out."

"You two can kiss and make up later," said Leader. "After you give me what I came for and before I kill you both, quickly and cleanly."

"It would help if you told me what it was you wanted," said Sarah. "It-it-it-it, just tell me what it is."

Leader left Morgan and came back around to Sarah. "Sydney Prince's phone. It was listed as recovered, but our moles in the CIA haven't found it. All of her data, her marks, her leverage. It has to be here, and I want it."

Sarah remembered the phone they had, the one that Shaw had handed over. "It was broken," she said, "Useless. We sent it in for hardware analysis and disposal."

"We have that one," said Leader, waving it away with his razor. "It wasn't hers."

Sarah's face didn't change. "Sorry. Can't help you."

Leader raised his razor. "That's makes two of us."

An underling came into the room. "We have visitors. Casey and Carmichael."

Morgan perked up. "Casey's a spy too?"

Leader smiled, folding his knife. "Well, it looks like we'll have to save the torture for later, after I've taken care of your friends. Your _best_ friends."

"Casey's not my friend," said Morgan.

"Morgan–" said Sarah.

Leader clamped a hand over her mouth. "I'm not talking about Casey," he said, past her and through her, for Morgan's delectation. "I'm talking about Carmichael. Charles Carmichael, or as you know him, Charles Irving Bartowski." He released his hold on Sarah's face. "You never told him that part, did you? Have fun catching up." He walked away, leaving them to stew.

"Morgan?" said Sarah.

"Chuck's a spy?" said Morgan.

"Yes, Chuck's a spy," said Sarah sadly. "He didn't want to be, didn't ask to be. Didn't want to lie to you, or to Ellie, but he had to, to protect–"

"You're a spy too?"

"Yes."

"Were you ever his friend?"

She gusted out a laugh. "The situation we're in, and _that's_ what you care about?"

"Why not?" he said. "Everything else makes perfect sense. The lying, the vanishing into thin air–hey, you guys must have an entrance in HT, don't you?"

"You're taking this well."

"Are you kidding, I thought I was losing him. This is the best news ever, well, except for you two. Were you ever really together with Chuck?"

"Not in the beginning," said Sarah. "I was sent here to investigate a theft of CIA property, and it looked like Chuck was involved."

"He wasn't," said Morgan, with utter certainty.

"No, he wasn't, but he got it, and he couldn't give it back, so he had to come work with us. Since then, I have been, at various times, his handler, his protector, his supervisor, his partner, and the guardian of his heart." Sarah paused for a moment. "But I'm not his best friend. That's you and always has been."

"So who's Sam?" No answer. "Come on, we're probably gonna die, this is no time for secrets."

"It's not a secret," said Sarah. "Not anymore." _Chuck knows all about her._ "I am Sam…"

* * *

In the Buy More break room…

Casey put his fingers on the sensor, but of course the lock didn't disengage. He got out his code-breaker, the same one he used at the hotel. The security in Castle was higher grade, but the principle was the same.

The door opened, faster than usual with two goons on the inside pushing it. He hit the table, dropping his device, but he had no time to look for it. They were here to kill him, there could be no other reason, but they weren't good fighters. Still, two on one was hard to beat. He threw himself against the lockers repeatedly, trying to dislodge the one on his back while the one in front took advantage. Doors popped open and small objects fell underfoot. A bottle fell and broke, releasing a foul chemical stench, ether or chloroform. Casey kicked the front guy in the nuts and he fell, and Casey stepped on his head to hold him down in the puddle until he passed out. One on one the second guy had no chance.

Casey reeled away from the puddle, head spinning, and his foot kicked a small package. He picked it up and threw it back in his locker. He tried the door again but it was closed, his device stepped on and the room full of fumes. He left the goons where they were and headed back to the Double O, defeated by Jeff.

* * *

In the Double O…

"We have to use the self-destruct," said Shaw. "All my intelligence on the Ring is down there."

"So is Sarah," said Chuck, still typing.

"We don't know that."

"The only reason she's not here is because she's there," said Chuck. "She knows her duty."

"Her duty includes being ready to die for the greater good," said Shaw.

"That's true, but if they already transmitted your intel, it's too late," said Chuck. "If they haven't I can stop them easily. Either way the greater good is not served by destroying an entire CIA base and the shopping center above it."

* * *

Down in Castle…

"…And there you have it," said Sarah. "The story of my life."

"It doesn't sound like much of a life," said Morgan sadly. "Just a…bunch of petty adventures held together by string. That must be where Chuck comes in."

"That obvious, huh?"

"You do sort of light up when he comes into the room," said Morgan.

Leader came into the room. "Kill them, dump the bodies."

Morgan felt Sarah clasp his hands. "So long Sarah," he said. "Good knowing you." Wait, she left something…

"Don't worry, Morgan," said Sarah, as they pulled her to her feet. "I should have known you cretins weren't real agents."

"And how is that?"

"Because you didn't search me for a _key_ , idiot." Sarah punched him in the face, and he went down.

Morgan fell to one side as the goons pushed him out of their way, and kept rolling. Lodged against the wall he fumbled with the key Sarah had shoved into his hand. When he got a hand free he reached for a weapon, a wooden staff or something, but only managed to knock it sideways. A goon stepped on it and skidded forward into a vicious kick, and that was one down.

Morgan slammed his hand down on the end of the staff and it popped up into the air, where Sarah caught it. "Thanks, Morgan," she said, fending off an attack by the remaining bad guy. She planted the bo and launched herself at him, double-kicking him into the wall, and that was two down.

Something slashed at the staff and Sarah fell into a crouch. Leader had recovered, and he held a katana. Sarah readied herself for his attack, watching for the beginning of his swing. There! She swung the staff as he came in…

…and stopped, his foot not moving. He looked down. Morgan, lying next to him, waved, and that was the last thing he saw.

Sarah looked at her fallen target, his foot cuffed to a display table. She poked him with her staff, but he didn't move. She smiled at Morgan. "That'll teach him to mess with a best friend."

* * *

In the Double-O…

Casey stumbled in. "They gassed me."

The register beeped under Chuck's hands, and he looked down at the screen as it turned from red to green. "Jericho!"

Casey reacted on instinct, and fell to the floor. Chuck, Shaw, and Jones had their guns drawn and ready as the freezer door hissed open. Something moved in the fog, something short, and they aimed a little lower.

Morgan stepped out of the shadows. "Hey Chuck." Sarah stepped out after him. "Sorry. _Agent Carmichael._ About time."

* * *

 **A/N2** Yes, Squirrel Girl defeated Thanos, and I alone among mortals, know how that momentous event occurred. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	38. Chapter 38

**A/N** So Chuck is on Amazon Prime now. Hello, all you Chuck-discovering people out there!

* * *

"Let's do this _."_

"That could have gone better. _"_

"The story of my life _."_

"About time _."_

* * *

"Morgan, you have that key?"

"Yes, sir, Agent Carmichael, sir." Morgan pulled the handcuff key from his pocket and handed it over.

"You can stop saying that any time now." Chuck released the leader's foot from the display case, so they could cart him and his cronies off to the holding cells. Casey and Sarah had broken out the gas masks and headed up to the Buy More, to get the two goons up there before they were discovered. The Buymorians could deal with the spilled anesthetic on their own.

"I know, I just like to," said Morgan. A spy! His best bud was a spy, not a space alien, or a ghost. e started moving around, slashing the air like he remembered Sarah doing. Sort of.

"Well, if you're not careful, Agent Shaw over there will try to make some moves to put you into Witness Protection."

Morgan stopped. "I don't _want_ to go into Witness Protection."

"I know that and you know that, but something tells me Shaw wouldn't let a little thing like your civil rights stop him." He'd found the bug. "Not to mention that I wouldn't let him. We've been best friends for 22 years. You know a lot more embarrassing stuff about me than this, and none of that ever got out."

"Of course not," said Morgan, grabbing leader's feet after Chuck had zip-tied them. Together they shifted the villain onto a cart. "That's the whole point of being a best friend." He patted the bad guy's shoe. "To make sure the bodies stay buried."

* * *

Upstairs, behind the break room lockers…

Both bad guys had survived, so Casey and Sarah had divested them of their weapons and other tools, and zip-tied their hands and feet. They hoisted them up, to carry them down a flight of steps to the cart.

"So how much did you tell him?" asked Casey, dropping his load down ungently, or maybe he just slipped. Either way Casey wasn't motivated to do much about it. These guys were in for a bad wake-up anyway.

Sarah was politer about it, or maybe her guy was lighter. "As much as Chuck knows."

Casey grabbed the box of gear and put it on top of the two unconscious goons. "You sure that was a good idea?" he said, pushing the cart down the hall. "Awesome doesn't even know that much, and Awesome is awesome. Grimes is a moron."

"I'm something of an expert on bad ideas, Casey," she said. "This one doesn't have that feel."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Chuck once told me a story, from one of those books of his," said Sarah. "A man built a high wall to protect himself, with no door to let things in."

"So how did he get out?" asked Casey.

"He didn't," said Sarah, with a sigh. "I could wish that nine-year-old me had been a bit more of a nerd."

"It was a rookie mistake," said Casey.

"I know."

 _Heh._ "Except you were nine, not even a rookie, so I think you did the best you could. Whatever trouble you're in, it looks like you've got two saps to get you out of it now. Feel free to not keep me in the loop, I don't need to hear about every little lady-feeling." Casey's lip curled in disgust. "You may be happy to be feeling again, but I'm losing my best partner."

"Chuck needs me," said Sarah, not specifying _how_. "So I'm staying right where I am."

Casey looked up, or rolled his eyes. "Under the Burbank Buy More, God help us."

* * *

They met at the holding cells. "Morgan."

"Sarah."

"Ugh." Casey dragged his guy off the cart and left him lying on the floor. The box of gear went into a container and he was gone.

"How did I never guess that he was a Marine colonel?" said Morgan to no one. "I mean, there aren't that many possibilities." He turned back to the cells, where Chuck and Sarah had put all the rest of the bad guys. "So am I on the team now, or what?"

Chuck knew that was coming. Morgan never minded being picked last, but he hated never being picked at all. "Walk before you run, buddy, and I mean walk back upstairs before that 'revolution' gets more out of hand than it probably already has. We'll have to talk to our boss and see if 22 years of video gaming is an acceptable substitute for the usual training course."

"And put all that stuff back on the shelves," said Sarah, pointing to all his quote-mission gear-unquote. "Think of it as post-mission clean-up." Even Shaw was doing some, or would soon. He and Jones were working on his script. If they were working on anything else together she didn't want to know about it.

"Try not to make it look too neat, though," said Chuck. "That always looks suspicious."

"Right," said Morgan, taking his pile of junk. "Not too neat." He walked into the hall and turned left. Five seconds later they saw him walking the other way.

"On the team?" asked Sarah.

"He can be useful," said Chuck. He remembered Morgan's battle plan against the Large Mart team the previous year. "A little overboard on the mission prep sometimes…"

"That's my guy," said Sarah. _Always looking for their strengths…_

"Your guy, huh?"

"Yes, and I definitely mean that in a possessive way," said Sarah, looking him over, "As opposed to the walking computer box everyone else is worried about."

"Hey," said Casey, in a low voice, sticking his head around the corner. "Is it safe?"

"See? That's all they worry about, your safety." She turned and said, "Yes, it's safe, Morgan's gone back to work."

"I'm not worried about him," said Casey, "I'm trying to avoid stepping in any of your lady-feelings. Worse than mud in my combat boots." He waved them over. "Come here, I have something to show you before Shaw and Jones miss us."

"You have something you don't want Shaw to see?" asked Chuck as he walked around the corner.

"Not Shaw, Jones, but he's always around her, these days," said Casey. He held up a box, the one that had fallen out of his locker during the fight. "She gave me this while you were on your way back from that Paris mission. I was supposed to give it to you for her."

Chuck grinned, sensing some minor blackmail possibilities. "And you forgot."

Casey bristled, seeming to get larger. "And if you know what's good for you, you'll keep that body buried, Bartowski."

Blackmail thoughts completely gone. "That's what friends are for." Chuck took the box from Casey's hand and unsealed it, popping open a signal-blocker to reveal…"A phone? I don't get it."

"I do," said Sarah. "It's what they were looking for, down here. Sydney Prince's phone. He said it had all of her intel."

"But…we had Prince's phone…?" He'd held it in his hand, after Shaw handed it over.

"Not according to him." And why would he lie? He had the upper hand, but time was running out, so he offered them a truth in exchange for a quicker death.

"So I'm supposed to believe that Shaw gave me a fake phone on purpose?"

"I would," said Casey. "The General sent that back herself, and you know how she's had to tiptoe around Shaw." Then again, maybe they didn't, but if they didn't know it before, they knew it now. "Must have seen it on a manifest in DC when all our reports said it was here."

"Why would he do that?" asked Sarah.

"He shot her, didn't he? Why did he do _that_?" replied Casey. "Something not right about him."

"Well, it's our problem now," said Sarah. "Chuck, you have to decrypt that phone. Casey and I will have to work on our reports to the General. Carefully."

* * *

Later that night, approaching the Casa de Bartowski y Grimes…

"You should have seen it," said Morgan, Subway bag swinging wildly as he tried to demonstrate the magnitude of 'it'. "It was like they'd won a war or something."

Chuck shook his head. "Only in a Buy More...Hey, Devon. Morgan, why don't you go on ahead, it looks like Devon needs something."

Devon waved as Morgan left without a word. "So how'd it go?"

Chuck gestured for them to move closer to the fountain. "Not as well as I would have liked," he said. "It seems their target was Sydney Prince's phone."

"You said that was destroyed."

"We thought it was too, but now it seems a ringer was substituted," said Chuck. "We have the original, and your role in this still current incursion still seems to have been accidental. It might be a good idea for a number of reasons if you guys were to leave town for a while, though."

"Leave town?" said Devon. "We just got back."

"You're right," said Chuck, his ready acceptance doing wonders to convince Devon that there really was nothing to worry about. "And we don't want her going off on another men-in-black tangent again."

"No we don't," said Devon firmly. "You'll keep me in the loop?"

Chuck shrugged. "If there's anything to keep you in the loop about, sure. I better get going before Morgan eats my Meatball Marinara sandwich, Italian-style meatballs drenched in irresistible marinara sauce, served on freshly baked bread, limited time only."

Devon looked at him funny. "Yeah, Chuck, you do that."

* * *

Minutes later, in the Casa de Woodcombe...

"Hey babe," said Devon as he came in. "Still reading that airline magazine? You know they just want to put travel ideas into your head."

Ellie put the magazine on the table. "Oh, I know. But they had this really interesting article on Africa, and the work Doctors Without Borders is doing there, and it got me to thinking…"

* * *

Far away, in Daniel Shaw's much nicer hotel room…

"Daniel," said Agent Jones, "What's the matter?" Something must have been, it was hard enough getting a rise out of him at the best of times.

Daniel Shaw barely glanced at her naked form. "The Ring knows about Castle."

"Do we have to shut it down?" No more disgusting yogurt, or even-more-disgusting yogurt eaters?

"No, and that's what worries me," said Shaw. "They had me dead to rights, and didn't kill me. They had my intel in their hands, but sent no transmissions."

This was getting boring. She lay back down, pulling up the sheet. "Those both sound like good things. Are you sure they weren't after something else?"

"Not according to Agent Walker."

Sam didn't want to hear about Goddamn Agent Goddamn Walker. She wasn't even _on_ the mission, and she had a better mission than theirs. "Maybe she missed something."

"Or lied."

Jones yawned, rolling over. "Why would she lie?"

* * *

Down in Castle…

Casey attached all the necessary leads to the captured Ring phone and put it in a block box. All incoming signals would be recorded and all outgoing signals would be shielded. He was about to get on with his day when the attached devices beeped.

 _That was fast._

He sat at the desk and pressed the button. "Who activated this channel?" According to Chuck, Price said the same thing when he called her on her own phone. The best way he knew to sound like a Ring agent was to say what Ring agents said.

No dice. "Colonel Casey," said a smarmy, smarmy, oily, overly-confident voice in tone of great self-congratulation. "We thought we'd find you here…"

* * *

 **A/N2** Sorry about the puns. The ending took me a bit to come up with, between the blatant plug for Subway, Shaw's self-absorption, and how the hell did they know Casey was there with the phone? I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	39. Leavetaker

**A/N** Another case of characters acting OOC to generate fake angst. The trick is to keep the plot while losing the stupid. When I did this bit, with Carina as the patsy, at least she was wired. For this one I'll have to come up with something else. I hate to do the same thing twice.

* * *

" _I'm something of an expert on bad ideas."_

" _That's what friends are for."_

" _Why would she lie?"_

" _We thought we'd find you here…."_

* * *

John Casey was not a man given to dwelling on the past. For him the past was full of mistakes, usually other peoples', but mistakes nonetheless. He didn't mind thinking about the ways in which he'd corrected those mistakes, but the real pleasure of gunplay was physical. He'd rather be correcting new mistakes than thinking about old ones.

His own mistakes he didn't like thinking about at all. The old ones he'd sucked all the juice out of long ago. Bitter juice, the best kind. The new ones, like the smell and feel of a gun ejecting a bullet, had a way of forcing you to notice them, but the new mistakes and the old ones didn't really have a lot to say to each other.

Which made today just so special.

Signing on with Colonel Keller had been a mistake, the kind you recognize only after it all goes to Hell. At the time, Honduras in 1989, it had looked like a dream come true, which is true of all the best and biggest mistakes. Newly rejected from training in Special Operations Command, his dream not come true, he'd barely stumbled twenty feet before he heard a voice call out, "Tic Tac?"

He still didn't know why he stopped, it's not as if the call had a 'Lt. Alexander Coburn' attached to it anywhere. Lots of guys around. Him staring at his feet, and the ruins lying there. What would he tell Kath, waiting for him to come back and marry her? His proposal had been made in a kind of innocence, the kind of lifeline most men need to have as they head off to war. The war had changed him, or revealed him, and he had discovered that he was or could be a man who didn't need a lifeline.

Keller spoke to that man, while Kath waited for the other. Until he'd made that phone call. Until the day he died. Even now, Keller was talking to that man.

No, really. He _was_ talking to that man, standing in Casey's apartment, giving him the details of a new mission. "I'm glad you took my call."

As if Casey would turn down an opportunity to gather intel on Ring operations. He never knew what had happened to that old 'covert black ops team' he'd signed on to be a part of, beyond the sudden transfer of himself and a few others, the ones he could actually stand, out of it. Finding that Keller was in the Ring explained a lot.

"Tomorrow, General Beckman will give you a trace-cell mission," said Keller, revealing the presence of at least one mole somewhere in Beckman's ops center. "Test the security all you like, but you'll pick something up for me while you're there." He handed Casey a key, like the one Shaw used to open that lockbox. "I know you'll make the right decision"

* * *

Inside the Casa de Bartowski y Grimes…

Chuck sat in the living room, playing something after a long day and night in Castle, working his way through the encryptions on Sydney Prince's phone. The NSA already had tech to crack the network they operated on, but getting into the phone itself was a different story, hopefully just a different chapter of the same book.

The code-breaking was fun, but keeping the knowledge of what he was doing from Shaw was a bit of a pain. Or from Jones, since she would just tell Shaw. Fortunately Shaw had been recalled to DC, and Jones didn't want to be around Chuck if she didn't have to be. Those two were so chummy that only the fact that Beckman had sent Jones with the phone herself kept them from suspecting Jones too.

Suspecting her of what, they didn't know, and probably wouldn't until the phone was unlocked, but Shaw had to have misdirected it for a reason. At least, they hoped he had a reason. Scary enough _that_ way.

Suddenly Morgan came in. "Chuck! Thank God you're here."

Chuck looked up at the tension in his friend's voice. "Morgan? What's going on?" He noticed all the equipment Morgan carried. "What's with all the gear?"

"I, uh, 'borrowed' it from Jeff and Lester," said Morgan. "I can't get into Castle without one of you guys, and you'd never let me check out any of the real gear without a lot of paperwork–"

"Like training and certification."

"Exactly, but I need to practice my spying now, dude, otherwise I'm never gonna catch up–"

Facepalm. "Morgan…"

"So I got this gear and started checking out what Casey's up to."

Chuck raised his head. "You were spying on John Casey? Are you insane, spying on a spy? One who has a lot of guns?"

"A _lot_ of guns, Chuck, you have no idea." Morgan paused. "Or maybe you do. Anyway, that's the beauty of it, Chuck. John Casey, unlike me, _is_ certified, so I know that there's no way he'd ever shoot without figuring out who he's shooting first, and he'd never shoot me."

Probably never. Almost maybe probably never. "He might."

"Okay, he might."

"Unless he thought you were Jeff and/or Lester, with all that crap," said Chuck.

Morgan nodded. "Right, Jeff and Lester."

"I understand Casey keeps leftover mop water on standby, just in case."

"Okay, fine, I'll stop spying on Casey," said Morgan. "But then who am I going to practice on?"

"How about nobody, buddy," said Chuck. "Spying is dangerous business."

"You think so?" asked Morgan. "All I saw was some old guy, giving Casey a new mission."

"See, now there's where you're making a classic mistake, Morgan," said Chuck. "You're jumping to conclusions. See, I would know if Casey was getting a mission, since I would be getting a mission too."

Morgan got out his phone, moving his fingers on the screen. When he was finished he held it out to Chuck. On the screen Chuck saw a figure with his back to the camera, shaking Casey's hand. _"Pleasure working with you again, old friend."_ Morgan pulled back the phone as the man walked off. "See, I figured, since Casey's a spy, and this guy said 'working', I'm thinking–"

"Working on what?" said Chuck.

* * *

The next day, in Castle…

"Tonight you will be performing a trace-cell mission," said General Beckman. "Details have already been transmitted."

"What's that?" asked Jones.

"A practice incursion into one of our own facilities, testing the security," said Sarah.

"Will Agent Jones be part of the mission, ma'am?" asked Casey. Normally these drills were done with a three-man team.

"No," said Beckman, surprised. Only senior agents had the clearances required to be tasked with these missions. "The LA field office will be glad of another pair of hands for the night. Please stay on the line, Col. Casey. The rest of you are dismissed."

* * *

That night, in the LA Vault…

The alarms went off when they opened the door to level one, an annoying sound with equally annoying lights to go with it. "What's all this?" asked Chuck.

"We're intruders, Chuck," said Sarah.

"I know we're intruders, Sarah," said Chuck. He waved at the air. "I was expecting armed guards and pincer movements, but this is really annoying."

"The guards have the night off," said Casey. He looked up at the cameras. "Probably watching us on the monitors, eating popcorn. It's just us and the automated defenses tonight."

"Should be a piece of cake," said Chuck.

"You're up against the CIA's best tonight, Carmichael," said Casey, sounding abnormally respectful.

"They're up against a nerd who's seen every Indiana Jones movie ever made, Casey, as well as the Pacifier."

"Don't think you're going to be able to Panda Dance your way past this." Casey threw a coin on the floor, hard. Hard enough to set off pressure sensors set to extremely high sensitivity levels. Darts shot out of both walls, from floor to ceiling. "See?"

Chuck assumed a ready position. "Did I forget to mention the Intersect-level gymnastics?" He ran down the hall, flipping over, under, and through the darts, always managing to put himself in places they weren't. In no time he was at the other end, using the panel to deactivate the devices.

Casey marched up to him. "I will give you one, and I mean one, Intersect pass tonight, Carmichael, and you just used it up. You're better than that, dammit."

"Oh, come on, Casey," said Chuck, as Casey pushed through the door into the stairwell. "There were lots of other ways to do this." He turned to Sarah. "You saw them, didn't you?"

"I know, he thinks he knows everything," said Sarah. She patted him on the back. "Just let it go, we've got fourteen more levels to get through."

"Okay."

* * *

Level fifteen…

Casey entered first, rubbing his arm. Sarah had a limp. "See?" said Chuck with a groan, rubbing his neck. "Perfectly manageable."

"You're telling me you already knew how to juggle?" asked Casey.

"Oh ye of little faith." Chuck looked around. Unlike the others, this hallway was short, with nothing more than a desk for the vault guard (also given the night off), a panel and the door to the vault itself. Sarah had already stepped up to the panel and was attaching the code-breaker. Chuck checked his watch.

When the door opened, Casey directed Sarah to watch the door in no uncertain terms. "What?" he asked with an air of total innocence when Chuck gave him a look. "You saw the limp. She'll watch out for us, and I'll watch out for you. SOP."

Chuck let it go, searching among the racks of sealed boxes until he found the one he sought. Casey watched him go, moving off in time to Chuck's footsteps to find the box he'd been told to find. He pulled out the key Keller had given him and put it in the slot. Casey opened his box softly, one ear cocked for the sounds of Chuck's progress.

Chuck had a standard-issue code-breaker, but instead he pulled out his own homemade unit and set it to work. He kept his eyes on his watch until he heard a beep. Ha! Faster than standard issue, just like he expected. He turned the handle until it clicked, and pulled open the drawer. Inside was a piece of paper in General Beckman's official stationery. 'Job well done.'

Inside his box, Casey found a zippered pouch. Still no beep from Chuck. He picked up the pouch and unzipped it, verifying its contents.

Suddenly Casey heard a click. He zipped the pouch and stuffed it in his bag, shutting the door to the box.

"What are you doing?" asked Chuck, taking Casey by surprise. The click hadn't been Chuck opening the box, as he'd expected, but him _closing_ the box instead. Now he stood there in the aisle just a few feet away. He must have seen everything.

Still, Casey wasn't a Marine for nothing. "It's need to know, Carmichael, and you don't need to know."

Suddenly Chuck smiled, tapping the side of his nose in a gesture that Casey supposed might have been meaningful to someone who wasn't him. "I got it, Casey, I got it. No need to say anything, I got your back."

Casey grunted suspiciously as he donned his pack. "Good."

Behind him the door opened and Casey turned. "Everything all right in here?" asked Sarah.

"Yes it is," said Casey. He looked at Chuck. "Right?"

"Absolutely," said Chuck, touching the pocket with Beckman's note, making the paper crinkle so Sarah could hear it. "Everything's just fine."

* * *

 **A/N2** This stuff ain't easy. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	40. Chapter 40

**A/N** This section is very difficult. Devon isn't pushing for Africa, and Chuck isn't so foolish about Casey's antics. It's taking me a long time to come up with motivations for the plot that don't hinge on that degree of stupidity.

* * *

" _I know you'll make the right decision."_

" _Spying is dangerous business."_

" _He thinks he knows everything."_

" _Everything's just fine."_

* * *

Chuck sat at his workstation at home, decrypting Sydney Prince's phone, wondering if he was doing the right thing.

Not decrypting the phone, that was definitely the right thing to be doing. Nor was he worried about doing it at home, either. Since Morgan had been let in on his little secret, it was a lot easier getting stuff done where Shaw couldn't see it. Not that Shaw was there at the moment, but he'd be back eventually. Morgan was also a good second line of defense where previously he'd been the first line of attack. A 'turned asset', so to speak, but this time he'd done the turning himself, so Chuck didn't feel the least bit guilty about that either.

Nature abhorred a vacuum, and it seems secrets did too. No sooner had the beans been spilled to Morgan than new beans, less personal but more troublesome, took their places. Keeping his own secrets was hard but keeping other people's was harder.

Someone pounded on his door, and he powered down his work and draped a cloth over it before going to answer aaand here comes Devon, looking frazzled in his awesome way. "Chuck, do me a solid. Help Ellie commit."

"Commit to what?"

"Anything, I don't care, whatever makes her happiest. She got it into her head to join Doctors Without Borders, and then kept me up all night dithering. That whole 'should I/shouldn't I' thing is exhausting."

"I can imagine."

"Today it's worse. She's on her way over and I need you to make sure all your Ring stuff is put away. We just got her over that whole men-in-black thing and I really don't want it to start up again."

Chuck went back to his desk, picking up the cloth-covered tray. "What makes you think I had any Ring gear?"

"You said you did."

The tray went into a drawer, and a broken laptop took its place on the desk. "Yes, but why would you think I had it _here_?"

Devon shrugged. "I know you."

Nothing much to say about that, considering it was true, so Chuck shifted to more immediate concerns. "Why's Ellie coming here?"

"Oh, no," said Devon, backing away. "No way I'm spoiling it for her." Someone knocked on the door. "That's her now. Remember, you don't know anything."

"I _don't_ know anything."

Devon gave him a thumbs-up and headed for the Morgan door. Chuck walked slowly to the door, giving him time to get into position before he opened the door for his sister. "Hey, El," he said, using his curiosity to fake a surprised tone to his voice. "What's up?"

She held up a letter, complete with envelope. "I got it!"

He took the letter as she came in, noting the seal before reading the text. "The neurology fellowship at USC," he said. "You've been wanting this since middle school. Congrats." He handed the papers back to her.

Ellie took the papers with trembling hands. "What do I do?"

"About what?" No need to fake the surprise this time. His sister, _his_ sister, was dithering. No wonder Awesome was scared.

Ellie's hands came together, crumpling the paper. "About Africa," she said. "Doctors Without Borders. I can't stop thinking about it. It's the most excited I've been in weeks, since Paris, I guess. But then I'd wonder 'how could I leave you?', and… Poor Devon, I really ran him ragged." She stared down at her joined hands. "And now this." She looked back up at him. "I should be more excited, shouldn't I?"

"I should be Charles Carmichael by now, shouldn't I?"

The shift took Ellie by surprise. "Who? Oh, your multimillionaire software developer alter ego, now I remember. And what was up with the yacht-racing?"

"You know what, I don't know," said Chuck, taking her hands in his. "What I do know is, that sometimes your dream job isn't what you expected it to be."

* * *

Chuck sat at his workstation in Castle, decrypting Sydney Prince's phone, wondering if he was doing the right thing.

There wasn't much he could do for Ellie, but even so it seemed vaguely cowardly of him to plead the 'work' excuse and leave her to her dithering. Fortunately she had work, too, and she was too professional to let her personal crises get in the way. Which only pushed the matter back a few hours, but if he was lucky he might get captured by some terrorist, or warlord, or even better, a terrorist warlord. He could escape those, with bonus points for damage inflicted.

More likely Ellie would spread the angst among her friends and colleagues, and maybe get some decent advice. So he'd chalk that one up in the 'win' column, especially nice after the debacle last night's triumph had become. Casey had taken a prototype drug from the vault, and Chuck knew he'd done it, right down to the locker number. Sarah and Beckman had to suspect one or both of them, if they were any good at their jobs at all.

Maybe he should have said something. It could have been some twisted kind of a test…but this was Casey. One of the most loyal spies out there, he'd never do something like that without a reason, and Chuck had to trust that his reason wasn't a bad one. Couldn't be worse than the idea of suppressing emotions in soldiers. Did generals never go to the movies? They had to know that robot armies are a bad idea.

Chuck pulled out his phone, and sent a text. _I need you._

Sarah came running. "Chuck?"

"Sarah," said Chuck, taking her hands. "I need to confess."

" _You_ stole the Laudanol?"

"What? No, of course not." Chuck took a breath. "But I know who did, and I didn't tell anyone. I kept it a secret, and I promised you no secrets and no lies. This feels like both."

"Now it's neither." She swooped in for a quick kiss on the…cheek. "So that's who. Do we know why?"

A colleague, to share the angst. Chuck shook his head. "I assume he has one." And maybe get some decent advice. "What do I do?"

"What do _we_ do," said Sarah, squeezing his hands firmly. "We could just ask him. Do you think he would say anything?"

 _He didn't at the time._ "Probably plead the Fifth," said Chuck. Then he thought about what he'd just said. "Nah." Not Casey's style.

Sarah let go of his hands. "Right. So…just asking him is out. Looks like we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way."

Spying on Casey. Guns. Mop water. "No way," said Chuck. "Much too dangerous. Besides, Morgan already…tried…that…"

* * *

In the Buy More…

Chuck pounced on his buddy in a quiet moment, avoiding work in the broom closet. "Morgan, I need that recording."

Morgan slopped his coffee, but fortunately there was a mop right there. "What are you talking about, Chuck? The Mork & Mindy marathon hasn't even started yet."

"Not that recording. The one you made last night, outside Casey's place. I… _We_ need it."

Morgan tried to look innocent. "What makes you think I have one?"

Chuck shrugged. "I know you."

"True enough." Morgan pulled out his phone. "You want audio or video?"

"I want whatever will get Casey out of trouble." Chuck watched the scene again, looking for a moment when he could see the man's face in the light. Whatever Casey did last night, he had to have done it for that man. Finally he found a moment, and flashed. Immediately he wished he hadn't.

"Chuck? What's wrong?"

"A lot, you don't want to know," said Chuck. He handed Morgan the phone. "Lesson one of being a spy. Observe and report. You've observed, now you report." He waved the phone store-ward. "Plug into my computer at the desk. The system will copy everything."

Morgan gulped. "Everything?"

Chuck winced. "Yes, everything. _I'll_ delete what I don't need and _you_ will get a phone just for the spy work, if you're going to insist on doing it."

"Fine." Morgan took his phone and left, while Chuck went to find Sarah.

* * *

Down in Castle…

Chuck found her in the main briefing room, watching the screen. "Casey's been played," he said.

"Casey's been arrested," she said. She pointed at the screen, lots of men in suits stomping around in Casey's apartment. "General Beckman said they found his fingerprint on the drawer in the vault."

Chuck thought back. "That's crazy. We all had gloves on."

"That's what I said, not that anybody listened. Casey didn't say anything, just handed over his gun and left under guard. He'll be in the vault by now, how's that for irony."

"We need to see Beckman," said Chuck. "I have new evidence, footage of one of Casey's old Commanders visiting him before we went to the vault. He's in the Ring, he's the one that turned Casey's old sensei. Probably coercing Casey somehow."

Sarah shook her head. "It doesn't matter, they'll be shipping him overseas soon. The General said she needed him broken, fast, and we both know what it'll take to break a guy like him."

"Then we break him out tonight."

"It's treason," said Sarah, with a frown.

"It's Casey," said Chuck.

Sarah smiled. "I knew you'd say that. Let's go, partner."

* * *

Vault level one…

"Well, this looks familiar," said Sarah.

"Yeah, we were just here yesterday, don't you remember?" said Chuck. He tossed a coin, and the darts flew. "Good, no changes yet." He pulled out his phone.

"What are you doing?"

"I _may_ have uploaded a small virus into the system, last time we were here." Sarah glared at him. "What? We were testing their defenses. I would have mentioned it. Eventually."

"Fine," said Sarah. She pointed at the hall. "Open, says me."

Chuck shut down. He shut it all down. "And you say you're not funny."

* * *

Morgan sat at the dining room table, trying to configure his new phone but unsure what the best spy apps were, or how to find them. Which may have been the point.

The knock took him by surprise, and he dropped to the floor, banging his shoulder on the table. "Ow."

"Morgan?" called Devon from outside. "You okay?"

Morgan stood up and went to open the door, finding both Devon and Ellie waiting for him. "I'm fine," he said. "Just banged my shoulder." He flexed it and grimaced.

"You should ice that," said Devon. "But first we have a question. Ellie got her fellowship, but she also wants to do a stint with Doctors Without Borders, and she can't make up her mind. None of the rest of us have been any help, split pretty much down the middle, so it looks like it's up to you."

"Oh. Okay, sure," said Morgan. "It's pretty obvious to me that Ellie ought to go to Africa."

"On second thought maybe I better have a look at that shoulder right now," said Devon, pushing forward. "Be out in a minute, El." He closed the door and glared down at Morgan. "Maybe you don't know it but it's dangerous in Africa?"

Morgan glared back. "Maybe you don't know it but it's pretty dangerous here. Africa's just lions and stuff."

Devon moved right. "Chuck's here, he can keep her safe."

Morgan moved right. "Chuck doesn't need the distraction."

Devon frowned. "What do you know?"

Morgan frowned. "What do _you_ know? Do you know?"

"Do _you_ know? Oh my God–"

"You know!" they shouted at each other.

"Isn't it awesome?" asked Devon.

"Yeah, said Morgan. "Awesomely dangerous. I don't know how you found out but I found out when the bad guys took over their base, locked Chuck out, and almost blew up the Buy More." He slashed at the air. "Not. Safe."

"Bummer," said Devon. "I didn't know that."

"Fortunately I was there to help take care of things."

"Maybe Africa would be best," said Devon. He slammed open the door. "Wife, Morgan has opened my eyes. You, we, should definitely go to Africa."

* * *

Vault level 15…

"That was quick," said Sarah.

"A lot faster without all those pesky traps in the way, huh?" Chuck went to the panel and entered the code.

Alarms blared and the lights turned red. A door opened and three men entered the hall, one with a smirk, and two with guns. "Tell the General the intruders have been contained," said the guy with the smirk. He scanned his ID and the lights went back to normal.

"I'll tell her myself, said Chuck, raising his phone to his ear. "Yes, General, they discovered my virus after all. I agree, very good work." He lowered the phone for a second. "Your name, sir? For her report."

"Oh, uh, Stanley, Stanley Fitzroy," said the guy, no longer smirking. "It means 'son of the king.'"

"Yes, ma'am, 'son of the king'," said Chuck into his phone. "Absolutely, ma'am, thank you." He shifted the phone to his other hand. "Charles Carmichael. Very good work."

Sarah held out her hand as well. "Sarah Walker."

Stanley looked awestruck. "I'm your biggest fan," he said. "Both of you. I read and file all your reports…"

"That's so sweet. Are all the floors changed now?" asked Sarah.

"Oh, no," said Stanley, "That would take hardware, retooling, lots of work. This panel here was a simple software dump and replace. I'm the last security measure until a new one is deployed." He held up a card. "Only I have this card, so only I can access the vault."

Lights turned red as the alarms blared again. The whole hallway shook as the room behind the vault door echoed with a loud booming noise.

"From the front," said Chuck. He grabbed the card and scanned the door open. The far wall, a foot thick, had a whole blasted through it. Chuck could see three men waiting on the other side.

"Not another step," said the one he recognized as Keller. "We just came for the colonel."

Casey stepped out of the shadows, from a part of the cell not hit by the blast.

"Casey, don't go," said Chuck. "He's not an officer, he's in the Ring."

Casey glanced at Keller before looking back to Chuck. He stepped into the hole. "Duh."

* * *

 **A/N2** The only way I could think of to handle the ridiculous briefing was to sidestep it entirely. Not sure why they had all the traps on one side of the cell and an unguarded access tunnel on the other. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	41. Chapter 41

**A/N** Making some of my more blatant changes to the timeline in this chapter. Some elements are new, while others are simply split to improve the pacing.

* * *

" _Commit to what?"_

" _I need to confess."_

" _Open, says me."_

" _I'm your biggest fan."_

* * *

Their friend and partner John Casey going willingly with a Ring team wasn't one of their expected outcomes, so Chuck and Sarah hadn't developed any contingency plans for the possibility. They weren't even armed. Stanley Fitzroy's men were, and would have gone after their prisoner, but Chuck used the keycard again, closing the holding cell before they could throw their lives away. Leaving the guards behind, Stanley whisked the two agents up fifteen levels in his special hidden elevator and sent them on their way, before they could ask embarrassing questions about the architecture.

"Do they actually want us to believe that Casey's a member of the Ring?" said Chuck, as soon as they were out.

"They're idiots if they do," said Sarah. "Let's get out of here." She ran for the car.

"Yeah," said Chuck, running after her. "We're in the one place they aren't." He reached for the door, but someone opened it from the inside, hitting him in the nose and knocking him down. He saw feet, lots of feet, and heard Sarah yell in alarm, but then the world went dark.

Yeah, he thought as they rolled him over and cuffed him. _I'd be plenty steamed too._

* * *

The trip back to Castle was short and silent. The guards weren't talking, naturally, and both Chuck and Sarah knew better. Plus, they were both tracking their progress through the city and didn't need any distractions. They knew they were going into the Orange Orange long before they smelled the sugar.

Strong hands pushed them around, forced them into chairs, and spun them around, all tactics designed to disorient and weaken their resistance. The bags came off, but Chuck and Sarah already had their eyes closed, having gone through the same interrogation resistance training as their captors. They opened them to see General Beckman looking at them. "What did you think you were doing?" she asked mildly.

"Saving Casey from making a mistake," said Chuck, "But then we realized he wasn't making one."

Beckman sat back. "And when was this?"

"When Keller and his men retrieved him," said Sarah. "If Casey really was with them, we were right there and unarmed. He could have betrayed–" she looked around at the assorted agents and chose a word other than 'Intersect' "– _us_ to them at any time."

"Ergo," said Chuck in the tone of someone who'd always wanted an excuse to say 'ergo', "He's up to something, and my suspicion is you're up to it with him. You had to know we wouldn't accept the fingerprint story."

Beckman nodded, and flicked her fingers. The guards dispersed, except for the one who unlocked the cuffs. "Colonel Casey is being coerced," she said, when the three of them were alone. "He gave me a sealed file to open, and permission to share its contents with the two of you." Two pictures flashed on the screen behind her. "Allow me to introduce Lt. Alexander Coburn."

* * *

Morgan walked into the courtyard, bicycle under one hand and an open letter in the other. As he passed the fountain his knees buckled and he sat heavily. The sound of his bicycle falling over attracted the attention of the man tending the potted garden. "What's the matter?" he growled.

Morgan rose. "Casey?"

The gardener tugged down his kerchief. "What's in the _letter_ , Grimes?"

Morgan slumped. "It's a 'Dear Morgan' from Hannah."

"Couldn't tell you to your face, huh?" said Casey, putting down his tools. "Not that curator…"

"No, the curator's a douche," said Morgan as Casey walked over to him. "The assistant curator's okay, though, kind of like Chuck, only with art. Better for her than me." He looked down at the paper. "Not a surprise, just…hard, you know?"

"Yeah, I know." Casey sat down next to Morgan. "You never got one of those before?"

The paper twitched. "Never mattered enough to anyone before."

 _Moron._ "So that's a good thing, right?"

Morgan brightened. "Yeah, I guess it is." He slapped Casey's shoulder with the letter. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," said Casey, looking around, "But while you're in the mood, I need a favor…"

* * *

Chuck's computer made a noise, as he was drawing up plans for their operation in San Diego. Alex Coburn had had a fiancée, and Keller had made it clear in no uncertain terms how much the continued good health of 'the women in his life' depended on Casey's compliance with their wishes. With no time to spare, Chuck and Sarah were flying to her side so Casey could face Keller on more even footing.

"What's that noise?" asked Sarah.

"The decryption of Prince's phone," said Chuck, opening his case. "I wasn't about to leave that behind or start all over again." He checked the output. "Good folder structure. Okay, we've got some clear text here, no images yet. Oh, dear." He got out his phone.

"Oh, dear, what?" said Sarah, looking at the screen. Chuck pointed as he searched his contacts. "Alex Coburn? We know that."

Chuck moved his finger. "Oh, dear," she said.

"Yeah, hi, Devon? I really need a favor…"

* * *

Morgan was back at the Buy More, looking over the DVD rack as he so often did. He wasn't really looking for a movie, he knew which one he wanted, but he didn't want to just go for it. Be a dead giveaway if he did. He flipped through the various titles, racked out of order. Finally he moved in. First, second, third, what? Planet of the Apes? Talk about sacrificing for his country.

And unsealed, to boot. Now that was just insulting. As if any Buy More employee worthy of the name would put a movie back on the rack without shrink-wrapping it first. Morgan popped it open, and saw the little capsule, just where Casey said it would be. _Yes!_ Mission accomplished.

"Hey, Morgan, there you are," said Devon, appearing at the end of the aisle, between Morgan and the door. "Been looking all over for you." He waved a hand. "Come on, little buddy, we've got a mission."

 _All right!_ Morgan shoved the DVD in his bag and followed Devon out. When it rained, it poured.

* * *

Casey sat in his car, hidden among scores of others in the mall parking lot. He saw Morgan go in, creeping around the way some clown from a spy movie might. Then he saw Devon go in. _Nuts._ Sure enough, the big lug came out just a few minutes later, Morgan in tow. "But Devon–"

Morgan hadn't made the handoff. Terrific. Casey prepared to get out of his car. He'd have to do it himself.

"No time, Morgan," boomed the blond to everyone _inside_ the Large Mart. "Chuck needs us. You don't want to let him down your first time out, do you?" He opened the door of his car and shoved Morgan inside. "You'll just have to watch your movie when we get back."

They pulled out of the parking lot at high speed, faster than Casey could pull his own car out after them. He didn't see them when he pulled out into traffic himself, and he gave it up as a lost cause. He didn't know what Chuck needed them to do, but as long as Chuck was doing what Casey needed him to do he'd live with a hiccup or two. The Laudanol would be safe enough.

He turned around and headed for his own appointment

* * *

Chuck and Sarah pulled up outside Kathleen McHugh's house, looking closely for any signs that Keller's men were already there, but they saw nothing. "Glasses," said Chuck, and they both put on their sunglasses and got out of the car. They walked up to the door and Chuck knocked.

"Yes?" said the woman who answered the door.

"Mrs. McHugh?" asked Sarah. "We're with the FBI," she said, when the woman answered in the affirmative. She and Chuck flashed their cover badges, and she took off her sunglasses. "We'd like to talk with you about Alex Coburn, if you don't mind."

Kathleen looked at the two of them in confusion. "Alex? But…he's been dead twenty years."

"May we come in, please?" asked Sarah. "This really is a highly classified matter."

Kathleen opened her door, and they went inside.

* * *

John Casey walked into the cabin, a lit Cuban cigar in one hand and a zippered gel-pac in the other. Keller sat behind a desk, probably a dozen guns at his fingertips. "I knew I could count on you," he said. "You should have listened when I told you Alex Coburn was dead, but no. You always were too emotional for your own good." He gestured, and Casey tossed the zippered case onto the table. Keller unzipped the gel-pac and stopped, staring at the contents. "What is this?"

"Tic-tac?" said Casey. "You should try it. Really covers up that rotten-soul smell."

* * *

Chuck listened as Mrs. McHugh spoke to Sarah so glowingly of 'her Alex', scrutinizing the many pictures of a mother and daughter growing up alone. The large truck pulling up outside caught his eye. "Are you expecting anyone, Mrs. McHugh?" He went to look out the window from cover. Sarah got up.

"No," said Kathleen, disturbed by their sudden alertness. Doors slammed outside, and they heard lots of men moving, trying to be quiet about it.

Sarah drew her gun. "Twenty to one they try the gas company ploy."

"No bets," said Chuck, raising his watch to his lips. "We have a situation." Looking around, he noticed a closet, and pointed to it. "Mrs. McHugh, you might want to seek shelter."

* * *

Keller stood. "You're not walking out of here. I've got five guys watching my back. What have you got? A cigar."

Casey took the cigar from his mouth and dropped it on the floor, crushing it under his boot. "I've got my team. She's safe from you." Outside, the sound of a winch unspooling under Casey's car drew the guards' attention.

"From me, yes," said Keller, "But not from the three squads I sent after her, and your _team._ Not that they're the ones you should be worried about."

Outside, Casey's van exploded, fragments of glass and shrapnel piercing the windows harmlessly. The two men waited, but no one came to report. Casey grunted, satisfied that the loss of his cigar had been worth it. "Sorry about your backup."

* * *

"I might want to seek a gun," said Casey's former fiancée.

"Too late for that," said Sarah, as someone knocked on the door. "Hide." She took her gun to the side entrance, so that she could protect Kathleen without endangering Kathleen.

Too late for that. "Gas company," said someone outside, and armed men swarmed the house.

Chuck flashed, dodging bullets as he used whatever weapons came into his hands, giving new meaning to the phrase 'close-quarters combat.' Sarah got a few shots off but her gun was knocked from her hand by angry armored men. Kathleen went for the gun but was stunned before she could get there.

Chuck and Sarah stood back to back as the thugs took aim. "Switch," said Chuck, flinging up an arm. Sarah hooked his arm with her own and bent over, pulling Chuck backward. He kicked up with his legs and rolled across her back, throwing himself to the ground on the other side, where Sarah's gun was. He fired as he rolled, shooting at unarmored feet with uncanny accuracy, and then the entire squad was on the floor.

"Incoming," yelled Sarah, looking out the window. The door crashed open, the back-up to the first squad having no need or use for stealth. Sarah went down in a swarm or armed men. Chuck flashed.

* * *

Colonel Keller flipped the table, leaping to the attack, but he was older than Casey in a business when age mattered. Casey fought him off easily and pulled him up, hands around Keller's throat. "You should have stuck to strategy," he said. "Left the tactics to younger men."

"You've killed them," Keller said, gasping.

Somehow Casey didn't think Keller was talking about his guards. "You were gonna kill her anyway."

Keller rolled his eyes, the only things he could move. "True."

Casey lifted his former commander off the ground and held him there.

* * *

Time slowed, sounds muted. Vision blurred, too slow to suit the needs of the moment. Sound and shadow, glimpses of movement, ruled his world. Men became targets, statues and pictures became projectile weapons.

Sarah hit the ground, hearing Chuck shout her name. From the floor she watched as he blurred into motion, too fast for her to see clearly. The sound of it appalled her. Chuck wasn't pulling any punches. He wasn't saying anything. Broken rails broke bones, wielded in his hands. He pivot-kicked a statue from the mantel, the heavy object moving slowly enough that she could see it impact the head of a man, his gun aimed at her. He dropped like a dead man.

Sarah pushed herself up off the floor. "Chuck, stop!"

Someone grabbed her by the neck, pressed a gun up against the side of her head. "I'd do what she says if was _huuurk_!" Between the first word and the last Chuck had crossed the floor and slid his arm between Sarah and the man's gun arm, catching him by the throat and lifting him off the ground.

* * *

Colonel Keller fought, kicked, went still. Casey let the body fall.

* * *

Colonel Keller's goon fought, kicked…

Sarah stood up, between Chuck and his target. His eyes were focused, his expression utterly still. "Chuck, look at me." When his gaze shifted to her she kept talking, ignoring the choking sounds from behind her. "Chuck, listen to me, listen to this." She raised her arm to the side of his head, making the charms on her bracelet jingle together. "Hear that sound, Chuck?"

 _Jingle, jingle._ "That's the sound of our hearts, beating together. You gave me that heart, your heart, Agent Bartowski. You gave it to me to keep it safe."

 _Jingle, jingle. "_ I hung my heart next to yours, you've had it since the day you helped a ballerina dance." She touched his face, drawing her hand across his cheek. "I knew you would keep it safe as well, and you have, Chuck. I love you, and I know that you love me."

 _Jingle, jingle._ She felt his stance change, come alive. His eyes became eyes again, not…tracking sensors. He was seeing her. Hearing her. "You saved me, Chuck, from Rebecca Franco, from Katie O'Dowd–" His grip opened, and the goon fell. She threw an elbow back as he slid past her, making sure he was out as well as down. "From that guy."

Chuck reached up and caught her hand, stilling the sound of the charms. He held the two hearts in his fingers, Chuck and Sam. Sam and Chuck. "Hearts," he whispered.

Sarah pulled her phone from her pocket, pressed a contact, waited for pickup. "Desperate measures, General," she said without preamble. "I'll let you know when we're done." She put the phone away and drew Chuck's tranq pistol. He looked at her blankly.

"Time to go, Agent Bartowski," said Sarah. She tranqued all of them, starting with Mrs. McHugh herself. The cleaners would be here soon, and the fewer memories anyone had of this day, the better. She tugged at Chuck's hand, pulling him to the door, and he followed like a sleepwalker. "Come with me, Chuck. It's time. Time for us."

* * *

 **A/N2** Not quite where they ended this segment in canon. I hope you don't mind. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	42. Chapter 42

**A/N** Departing from the source material just a bit here. James Mowery mentioned DARPA, and Bob's your uncle…

* * *

" _What did you think you were doing?"_

" _I need a favor."_

" _We have a situation."_

" _Time for us."_

* * *

Sarah waited outside until the cleaner team arrived, disguised as a police response team. They gave her the expected signal, so she started up the car and drove away. "What do you think they'll tell her?" she asked her partner.

Chuck sat motionless in the seat next to her. She looked at him with a frown. "Chuck?"

"I'm here, Sarah," said Chuck softly.

She stopped at the next sign, and focused on him. "Is something wrong? Answer me, Chuck."

"I'm fine, Sarah," said Chuck in that same dreamy voice.

"No, you're not, Chuck," said Sarah. "This isn't normal, not even for you. What's wrong, Chuck?"

Chuck's voice ceased to be dreamy. It ceased to have any inflection at all. "Error condition detected," he said. "Initiate download."

"Crap." Sarah got out her phone, pulling away from the stop sign in flagrant violation of most safe driving laws. "General?"

"That was quick," said Beckman.

Sarah ignored her commanding officer's blinding wit. "Something's wrong with Chuck," she said. "He sounds like a computer and he's reporting an error condition."

"I'll call DARPA," said Beckman. "You get him contained."

* * *

Sarah took him home, a route she had not followed, a house she had not seen since before she graduated High School. It had been a furnished rental then, perfect for a con artist family on the go. It wasn't a rental anymore, but Sarah had no fears of anyone living in it. "This isn't how I wanted you to see this place," she said, her voice a bit rough. She'd been talking to him the whole way, hoping that Chuck was in there listening, even if he didn't respond. She got out and opened his door. "Come with me."

Chuck got out of the car, following her to the door. She unlocked it and brought him inside, leading him over to a table and chair. "Sit."

Chuck sat. Sarah called the General again. "Any news?"

"Nothing definitive," said Beckman. "The code is too complex for easy answers. They're checking for error conditions, but he suggested you initiate the download, whatever that means, and take it from there."

That sounded…open-ended. "We'll need supplies," said Sarah. "This house has no food in it, and obviously neither one of us can leave."

"Give me your address," said Beckman. "I'll have the closest office take care of that. Be careful, Sarah. Good luck."

 _Initiate the download._ Sarah got out her computer and set it up in front of Chuck, with an open document waiting. "Initiate download."

Chuck sat there, unmoving. Of course it wasn't going to be that easy. "Agent Carmichael," she said. "Report."

Chuck started typing. Sarah started reading, a millisecond-by-millisecond description of the events in Kathleen McHugh's living room, from the moment of Chuck's last flash. Angles of attack, available materials, efficiency analyses. A bloodless account of an almost-bloodless engagement, pretty boring stuff, really. Sarah forced herself to try to keep up, not that she could actually read what he was writing.

An hour passed. Chuck typed. Sarah listened to the rhythm of it, like a tune played over and over, listening for a false note, but she'd heard none so far. The doorbell rang, jerking her violently back to total awareness, and Sarah got up to answer it, accepting a box of generic supplies from the most junior agent in the local office.

More hours passed. Chuck typed. Sarah couldn't make him eat, but she made sure Chuck stayed hydrated. On the way into the kitchen for a refill she heard, "Sarah!"

She dropped the glass and didn't even hear it land as she ran to Chuck's side. His fingers were frozen on the keyboard but the rest of him was twitching. "Chuck! What's wrong?"

"Sarah! Help! The Intersect's trying to _reboot_!"

Reboot. Shut down? Sarah pushed the table and the computer on it away from where Chuck sat. "Stay with me, Chuck." She grabbed his hands. "Stay with _me._ "

Chuck's fingers gripped hers. "I'm trying. I'm trying to stay with you, Sarah."

He needed more. She pulled his hands to her face. "Feel me, Chuck. I'm talking to you and you feel it, don't you? You feel me and you hear me as I talk to you."

His eyes were beginning to glaze over. "I feel you and I hear you, Sarah."

 _Jingle, jingle._ "Look at me, Chuck. Right here, right now."

He jerked to awareness, old connections breaking as new ones formed. "Here and now, Sarah."

"Here and now, Chuck." Sarah left his hands in place, shucking off her jacket, untucking her white blouse. His eyes widened, as she hoped. She gripped Chuck's hands and pulled them from her face, stepping closer as she guided them under the shirt, pressing them around her waist. "Do you feel me, Chuck? My skin, my breath?"

Large, strong hands flexed, gently. "I can feel you, Sarah, the warmth of you. I breathe you. I can smell your perfume."

Sensory data, good. Analysis of sensory data, bad. He needed more, needed to go where the Intersect could not follow. _Jingle, jingle._ "Hold on to me, Chuck," said Sarah, undoing the buttons of her blouse. "Hold me, sense me, here and now."

Chuck held her, sensed her, old connections breaking as new ones formed. "Here and now."

Sarah dropped the blouse, and started undoing Chuck's shirt, reaching under the cloth. "Feel me, Chuck, feel my hands, holding you as you are holding me. I feel you, Chuck, the heat of you, just as you feel me. Here and now, Chuck, we are holding each other, together, here and now."

Chuck held on to her, old connections breaking as new ones formed. He smiled at her, in control of his own face. "Together, here and now…"

* * *

Back in Burbank…

Col. John Casey kept his lonely watch at the big table in Castle, concerned for his partners but trying to avoid thinking about whatever they were probably doing, by thinking about the past. The recent past, when he held Col. Keller's life in his hands, like a candle flame, and that flame went out. He treasured that memory, savored it, wished he could do it again. One death wasn't enough for Keller.

Not that he was the only one at fault here. Casey glared at the phone on the desk, future and almost-unrecognizable counterpart to the phone he'd held in his hand the night he'd died, the last time he'd had any contact with his fiancée. The night he'd left her behind as he walked into a new life, without even the courtesy of a Dear Kathleen letter.

Keller had stood behind him then too, like a shield against that life, holding it off until he killed it himself. With the dubious benefit of hindsight, the notion of Keller at his back made his skin crawl. Keller must have enjoyed betraying Alexander Coburn, he did it so often. Made him call Kath. Told him to bare his heart, as if she would believe that for one second, and she hadn't. Put him in his place right quick on that one. And then Keller had hung up on her, as she was telling him about some news. No idea what news.

He hadn't tried to keep track of her these last two decades, not a coward but not a masochist. He hadn't tried to shield himself, either, but her name hadn't come his way. Given the situation he'd done a routine first-degree search on her, part of his job, of course, but nothing about her life seemed to be newsworthy either. He couldn't imagine why Keller had thought she would be a handle on him after all this time.

General Beckman entered the room. He stood up, respectfully. "Ma'am?"

"Agents Walker and Bartowski foiled the assault on your former fiancée, Colonel," she said first off, knowing he would want to know and never ask.

Casey grunted acknowledgement and approval. He had a good team at his back.

Beckman continued with the bad news, "However, post-op complications have arisen, as they always seem to whenever the Intersect is involved."

"Yes, ma'am," agreed Casey. Not news. If nothing bad had happened, _that_ would be news.

"Sarah has taken Chuck to ground, and will remain there with him until she deems it safe to continue." End of story. "How is your search for the missing laudanol coming?"

"The case I hid the pill in is no longer on the shelf, ma'am, and I have reason to believe that Morgan Grimes has it in his possession." He indicated the monitors. "I have the Buy More under continuous observation, with facial rec running, but neither he nor Devon Woodcombe, with whom he was last seen, have returned their usual haunts. I also have a first-degree search running, on their names and known aliases in all media."

Beckman nodded. "Very good. Keep me informed of your progress. The sooner that pill is back in our vault, the better."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Lastly, we need to discuss your future with Operation Bartowski. Despite the success of your latest operation, you stole government property from a government vault. This is not an act that can be or should be easily forgiven."

Casey shifted to a parade rest position. "I understand."

"I'm sure you do…"

* * *

Somewhere far to the south…

"Chuck?"

"Yes?" he said softly.

"How's that reboot coming?"

"What reboot?" he asked. "I think you melted my brain." She laughed. "The Intersect's fine," he said. "At least, I guess it's fine, it certainly hasn't given me any trouble these last few…has it really been _hours_?"

"Mm-hmm." Sarah rolled over in the bed, sheet drawn up discreetly. "I had to be sure."

Chuck rolled over too. "Desperate times." He traced a finger across her cheek to move a lock of hair.

 _I'll show you_ desperate _. No wait, I just did._ She puffed out a breath to move a few strands. "Not as desperate as getting out of this _bed's_ going to be."

* * *

Hours later, back in Burbank…

Chuck and Sarah entered the courtyard, and found Ellie walking from his apartment. "Hey, sis."

"Chuck," said Ellie happily, nodding to Sarah. "Where have _you_ been?"

"Day-tripped it to San Diego," said Chuck.

Sarah added, "I spent some time there, when I was younger."

"Nice," said Ellie, nodding again. "So you're really opening up to my brother."

Sarah smiled. "You might say that…"

"So what's been happening around here, sis?" said Chuck quickly.

"Nothing much," said Ellie, sounding annoyed. "Devon and Morgan convince me to go to Africa, and then skip out on the logistics to go to UCLA, together, for a football game. Since when have Morgan and Devon become football buddies? I didn't even know Morgan _liked_ football."

"Well, just goes to show," said Chuck weakly, "People change."

"They _just_ got back," said Ellie, "And the first thing they do is run off into your apartment to go online. Since when are Morgan and Devon gaming buddies? Devon doesn't even like that stuff."

"I'll…go ask," said Chuck, glancing at Sarah.

"Ask what?" asked Devon, coming up behind his wife. "Hey, Chuck, I'm gonna steal my wife back, if you don't mind, gotta talk about that whole Africa thing some more. You should go talk to Morgan about the wild time we had at the football game. Really. Right now."

"I….think we'll go talk to Morgan about the wild time you had at the football game," said Chuck. "Good night." Sarah waved. They went into the apartment, which was pitch black. "Morgan?"

"Right here, Chuck," said Morgan.

Chuck hit the lights, and they saw him, sitting in a chair, staring at a blank wall. "What are you doing?"

"Waiting for you," said Morgan calmly. "Devon said we had to report to your boss, but we couldn't hack your computer."

"Why didn't you ask Casey?"

"Devon was afraid to."

"What?" asked Chuck.

"Why?" said Sarah.

"Bartowski!" yelled Casey, slamming open the door. "Can you explain to me why I have to learn I have a college-age daughter by seeing her on the arm of this bearded troll?" He stuck a tablet in Chuck's face.

The first thing he saw was a picture of a young lady, clenching Morgan's arm fiercely, surrounded by a bunch of jocks. He checked the caption. "Alex McHugh?"

"Excitement _off_ the field," said Sarah, reading further down.

"You asked us to watch over her," said Morgan.

"You knew about her, Bartowski?"

"She was in Prince's phone," said Chuck, as Sarah took the tablet. "We found the file after we took off. I needed a third team, someone I could trust, who wouldn't stick out at UCLA."

"A good plan," said Morgan. "Devon was good cover, but we needed a lot of help. He and his frat brothers ran interference."

"Who was calling the plays?" asked Casey.

"I was," said Morgan. "Bits and pieces from the games I've played."

"'Brilliant'…'daring'…'Innovative'," said Sarah, reading off the report. " _'Death_ -defying'?"

"The scaffolding on the North side," said Morgan. "Fear is the mind-killer."

"You put my daughter in danger?" growled Casey.

"She was already in danger. Death was behind us," said Morgan. "It was the safer choice."

"I'll give _you_ a safer choice," said Casey, raising his fist.

Chuck lifted a hand, and Casey stopped. "Morgan," said Chuck, "What happened to the laudanol?"

* * *

 **A/N2** Kind of clunky, but I'm glad to be rid of this episode. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	43. Gunrunner

**A/N** In canon, Casey was cashiered at the end of last episode, and Sarah went off to be with Shaw, leaving Chuck the idiot trainee alone with full access to Castle? What? And that position Sarah was standing in when Chuck came down the stairs, who designed that? If it was supposed to be sexy, who was she being sexy for?

* * *

" _Initiate download."_

" _Here and now."_

" _Desperate times."_

" _What happened to the laudanol?"_

* * *

The train yard was dark, empty. Of people. Of trains it had more than enough, a maze of metal and shifting stones underfoot, the catch the dirt and let it settle underneath. The man running through the yard wasn't dressed for the occasion, but then, neither was the man chasing him. They could each hear the other, but that was the first man's only benefit, not even an advantage.

No, that was wrong. He did have one advantage. The man chasing him intended to kill him but didn't want to. Had probably never killed a man before. He was probably nerving himself up for it right now, using the adrenaline of the chase. So…shorten the chase.

The running man fell, with a great scattering of loose stones.

His pursuer, of course, didn't just come running up to him, blazing away. He had to suspect a trap and approach with proper caution. The fallen man acted like prey, scrambling backward in the stones, to distract from the fact that he was also the trap. "Don't," he shouted. "Please don't. Don't you see? This is just what they want you to do." He remembered his first kill, saying pretty much the same things to him. He wondered if they meant more to this guy now than they had to him then.

"I gave you a chance," said the tall man, standing in the shadows.

That was a mistake, as the fallen man knew and the standing one apparently did not. The target is supposed to be just that, a target. Not a person. Tonight's designated target brought his leg up, as if trying to push another inch backward, but in reality he was bringing his ankle holster within reach of his trigger finger.

The yard echoed with the sound of a gunshot.

* * *

Three days earlier…

The arena was brightly lit, carpeted, a maze of shelving that the combatants knew well. The people were another matter, constantly shifting yet untouchable. The running man kept glancing at the mirrors, his only benefit, not even an advantage.

The running man rounded the corner, bumping into a customer, reaching for a product on a low shelf. "Skip, you're out," said a gruff voice.

His pursuer raised his arms in triumph. "Yes," Lester shouted. "We did it."

Jeff Barnes shot him in the chest, a Nerf dart sticking to his armor.

Lester looked down, then back up. "You're loathsome," he said to his betrayer. "You don't shoot your partner."

"There are no partners in Outlast," said Casey. He nodded at Jeff. "Good job, Barnes." He lifted the microphone. "Good evening shoppers. Tonight's Outlast is concluded, our winner is Jeffrey Barnes. Please come to the Nerd Herd desk to claim your coupons."

Chuck was first to the desk. "No coupons for you," said Casey, stamping little squares of paper. "You're not even supposed to still be here."

"I just thought I'd take a second to see how you were adjusting," said Chuck. "And the answer is, not well. What are you doing?"

Casey shrugged. "Morgan's off at that 'management seminar'–" their euphemism for the DARPA labs, where he was being poked and prodded after taking the laudanol "–so that leaves me in charge. I'm just channeling our coworkers' instincts for mayhem in more useful directions." He handed out coupons to the customers who came to claim them.

"You were supposed to baby-step your way into a civilian cover." Chuck raised his arms, taking in the whole of the store. "This is not baby steps, Casey, this is baby kicks to the groin. War games in the Buy More are not what I would call a useful direction."

"Then you really are a moron, moron," said Casey. "The employees love it, even if they lose, but more if they win. There's prizes." He pointed at the corner, where a picture of yesterday's winner, also Jeff Barnes, looked out upon his domain. Now it had a second bow. "The customers love it, it's a free floor show and they get coupons for everything they buy, with a bonus if they should actually get touched by one of these losers. Here you go, sir."

Chuck watched as Casey handed out the last coupon, exactly as many as there were customers to claim them, naturally. "What does Big Mike think?"

Casey shrugged. "What do you think he thinks? The coupons are for five percent, but he raised the prices by four. We only lose one percent, but everyone thinks they're getting a deal so they buy even more useless junk they don't need." He cracked his knuckles. "I'll have these jokers locked and loaded in no time."

"Jeff and Lester?"

"Them too."

The intercom came to life. "John Casey, my office."

"We've got to get you back in action," said Chuck.

"This is action," said Casey. "Shaw's back today. He needs to see what he needs to see. Why not have a little fun with the scenario?"

"'A little fun'? Casey, you're weaponizing capitalism."

Casey rolled his eyes. "It came pre-weaponized. Me being put on the outside, where Shaw won't be able to know my every move? _That_ took a little more work, and Keller did most of that for us. I should have thanked him, before I broke his neck."

* * *

A little later, in Big Mike's office…

"John, I want you to know from the start that I like you, I really do," said Mike. "But, it's come to my attention that this little reality experience of yours may not be all I was promised."

Casey shifted in his seat, glancing at Lester and Jeff, sitting sullenly on the couch, before looking back to the boss. "In what way, sir?"

"It's an attack on fundamental human decency," said Lester at top volume. "All human virtues, all order, even lifelong friendships and bonds of brotherhood, all thrown over in pursuit of victory at all costs."

Casey took it all in with nothing more than a raised brow. "That means he's upset because he hasn't won yet."

"But I have won," said Lester. Jeff grunted at him, and he quickly backpedalled. "I should have won, along with my lifelong friend and partner here, who was turned into a _Judas_ by this man's insidious game."

Casey chuckled. "If he's Judas then who does that make you?"

"That's not important," said Lester, quickly. "The point is that this so-called game can only be won through betrayal."

Mike laced his fingers, trying to look somber. "That's a serious claim, John. I can't let my crew continue playing a game if it's gonna mean conking each others' heads, stabbing each other in the back. We can't have that, that's Large Mart crap."

"No one needs to stab anyone in the back," said Casey. "These clowns just can't seem to win without it. Anyone can win this game, all on their own."

"Oh, yeah?" said Lester. "Prove it."

* * *

Chuck walked down the steps slowly, taking in his favorite sight in the world, closer and more detailed with each step. Agent Walker stood at one of the standing desks, entering data, her back to him. Most of the pleasure of it was her, of course. Perfect posture, perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect body _under_ the perfect clothes…

Best of all, she stood with her back to him.

One of the many rules of spy school, always sit with your back to the wall and with a full view of the room. She had to have heard him on the stairs, she ought to have been fighting every spy instinct she had, but somehow she didn't look like she was. "I take it Agent Shaw isn't back yet."

She stiffened immediately, turning to answer him but also putting the nearest barricade behind her. "Soon enough," she said. "Agent Jones should be bringing him back from the airport now."

"Well, she should enjoy the experience more than any of the rest of us," said Chuck, "Not that I really want to use 'enjoy' and 'Shaw' in the same sentence." He remembered Morgan, sitting in the dark, staring at a blank wall, and shuddered.

"How's Casey?" asked Sarah. Being disgraced and dismissed, even as a ruse, had to grate, but only Chuck really had a reason to talk to him now.

 _He's Casey._ "He taught them how to play Outlast."

"Oh, God," said Sarah, with a laugh. "Still, it's something he would do." Hopefully this part of their mission would be wrapped up before things got too out of hand.

Agent Shaw loomed up out of the darkness, having come in through one of the other entrances. "What _Mister_ Casey does with his free time should no longer be a matter of concern," he said, with a notable lack of interest in why someone with Casey's background and skills would still be working in a Buy More.

For a second Chuck wondered if maybe Shaw had been an early candidate for laudanol trials, or maybe they got the drug by filtering it out of his blood. "Not if we were zombie robots or something, but Casey is our friend. Not to mention that anything he does up there is almost certain to affect us down here." He looked around. "Where's Agent Jones?"

"Back in the Orange Orange," said Shaw. He never called it the Double O. "I'm going to suggest that the store be discontinued. Its original purpose has been served, and since you've become an agent it's become a waste of our resources."

"Castle needs a back door," said Sarah. She'd actually liked the posting, or she had, until the guacamole brought Jeff and Lester regularly, but then she liked to watch Chuck, too. And make plans.

"She's wasted there," said Shaw. "I'll bring it up, at our next meeting."

"Why are you carrying a purse?" said Chuck.

"Sam left it in the car," said Shaw, as he tucked it on a shelf. "She's a bit forgetful that way, just like–"

"Just like who?" asked Chuck, when Shaw's face appeared more frozen than usual.

Shaw blinked. "No one important." He tried to smile. "I wanted to thank you both, for expressing such concerns for my safety in your reports of the Castle breach. A number of the meetings I was part of focused on it."

The monitor chimed, and they moved around the table. "Your cover was blown," said Sarah as the boss' face appeared on the screen. Jones' face appeared in a small inset screen, from the register at the Double O.

"Perhaps not, Agent Walker," said General Beckman. "Interrogations of the captured members of the incursion team are not bearing out that supposition. Until we find out what they _were_ after, we have sent Agent Shaw back to you, in a somewhat…limited capacity for the moment. Agent Jones, you may disconnect from this meeting."

"Limited in what way?" asked Chuck, after Jones' window winked out.

"The possibility that the Ring knows of Shaw's presence in LA is small but significant," said Beckman. "He will therefore be leading no missions against the Ring at this time. Which makes this an opportune moment to address other issues that have recently arisen." She glanced at Shaw, giving him the floor.

"Chuck's flash while protecting Colonel Casey's fiancée, and its aftermath, have raised red flags at Langley," said Shaw. "Something caused the Intersect to overload and then malfunction, possibly fatally, and I'm here to find out what that 'something' was. Chuck's a good agent. No one wants to throw that away without cause."

"Define 'cause'," said Sarah.

Shaw shrugged casually, apparently unaware of his danger. "We'll know when we get there. We have to determine the trigger conditions first, and whether we can correct for them." He lifted his briefcase to the table and pulled out a hefty block of paper held together by clips. "Fortunately, the output log that Chuck made after the event was very helpful to the scientists at DARPA. They were able to determine that the set of possible triggers was very small. Some particularly intense stressors. Most of them fall within the bounds of our standard agent testing, so I'll be adapting those for the particulars and we'll go from there."

Sarah glared at the book, not just for the data it contained but for the book itself. Typing that much text at Intersect speeds had left Chuck's hands in pain for days. She reached for it, but Shaw slid it away from her. "I'm sorry, Agent Walker," he said, not sounding sorry. "But this information is need-to-know."

Sarah looked at Shaw, then the General, with incredulity. "Yes, and I need to know."

Beckman shook her head. "I'm sorry, Sarah, but Agent Shaw has full responsibility for Agent Carmichael's training."

"I do," said Shaw. His lips curled up, ever so slightly. "Sam will be assisting me, Agent Walker. Agent Jones. Not you."

* * *

 **A/N2** Because separating Chuck and Sarah always works. I can't take credit for Outlast either. It was featured in the Star Trek novel Battlestations, by Diane Carey. I changed the rules a little. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	44. Chapter 44

**A/N** Let's turn this episode sideways. Chuck has nothing to prove, Shaw has something to test for, and Casey and Sarah have something to do. They spent lots of time on this episode, it's pretty well written, but neither romantic nor funny. I'm doing what I can to add a little bit of both.

* * *

" _I gave you a chance."_

" _No one needs to stab anyone in the back."_

" _No one important."_

" _This information is need-to-know."_

* * *

Sarah stood up as Casey walked into the Buy More break room with a bunch of kids' toys under his arm. "What's all that for, Casey?"

It wasn't wise to surprise a spy. Casey would have shot her, but these Nerf sidearms had the wrong feel. "What the hell are you doing here, Walker?" he said, dumping the toy weapons on the nearest table. "Aren't you supposed to be down in Castle, keeping an eye on Shaw?"

"Shaw's been assigned to test Chuck," said Sarah. "A test that he doesn't want me to be part of, for some reason, and Beckman sided with him, like she always does."

"Let me guess," said Casey, draping himself with weapons, just as if he were a soldier going off to battle. "Chuck's little melt-down?"

Sarah wasn't about to call it little, or a meltdown, herself, but she nodded rather than get into the issue with someone like Casey. "He's got Jones taking notes, and God alone knows what else."

Casey tucked a dart pistol into his pants as if it belonged there. "Don't try to tell me you're surprised," he said. "You and I have been keeping the kid from melting down all this time, and it looks like Shaw finally figured that out. Stands to reason he wouldn't want you there."

Where she needed to be. Where she was supposed to be. "So what do we do now?" Sarah huffed.

"We?" said Casey, loading up a hand-made bandolier full of Nerf darts. " _We_ are getting ready to take on the entire Buy More at once, for my sins, so I guess _we_ should go back to the Double O and wait for a package from the General."

"What package?"

"Ever since Chuck broke the encryption on Prince's phone, she's had all the West Coast teams dealing with the fallout." The phone led to the house, the house held the computer, and the computer held everything. Vices. Secrets. Lies. Leverage. Blackmail materials of every sort. Unknown daughters. Casey ripped into another box of spares. "She had her best guys, well, _second_ best, looking for a source. You were supposed to keep Superboy busy while I was acting on that intel, so don't talk to me about which side the General always takes."

Now she would be the one taking action. That didn't sound like Casey. "You just don't want me to stay and watch."

"That's a side-benefit," said Casey. "It's embarrassing enough to be me in this scenario." He locked and loaded his primary weapon. "For them it will be a lot worse. You know my passcode, right?"

"Reagan's birthday, backwards, right-shifted by two?" She put out three fingers on her right hand where the cameras couldn't see, in case someone should be listening.

Casey nodded. "That's the _one_."

Sarah nodded, picking up the last two darts from the table. "Don't forget these," she said, sticking them in his pockets. "The best weapons are the ones they can't see."

* * *

Sarah walked out of the freezer, into a blast of frigid air. "About time you showed up," said Agent Jones. She grabbed her pad and pen from the counter beside the register. "Daniel–Agent Shaw needs me to assist. _You_ can sit here and deal with the crowd for once."

Sarah looked at the walls as Jones disappeared into the freezer, virtual customers flickering against the windows. Anybody looking would have noticed that those customers vanished without ever leaving the store, but the sonics kept most people from staying around long enough to notice. Movement on the register caught her eye, Jones going somewhere, the range or the dojo. Neither of which had cameras this device could access.

She checked the Buy More, but the screen was too small, the action too fast, for her to tell what was going on. Lots of green and white shirts milling around, no coordination at all. Only the customer rule made it even a challenge. Like Casey said, embarrassing.

She distracted herself, by using Casey's passcode to access his files, especially the collection of video clips he'd extracted from his surveillance over the years. Her, mooning over Chuck. Chuck, smiling at her.

* * *

Casey abandoned his high perch, its purpose served. Most of these losers had been down so long they'd forgotten how to look up, even if 'up' just meant the top shelf. He'd thinned the herd nicely, but for the last few stragglers he'd have to get down and dirty in the…carpet? _That_ carpet? His lip curled in disgust. _Give me mud any day._

Movement! He spun and fired. One of the white shirts, trying to play dead, but he hadn't 'killed' any white shirts yet. Still, he grunted his approval of the ploy. The ones who used customers as cover, especially the children, got no such approval. They got darts in unlikely and potentially painful places.

Naturally, the 'dead' employees were betting on the live ones. Casey might have been gratified to know the odds, or he might not. "Who's left?" asked Skip.

"Jeff and Lester," said Big Mike, the scorekeeper since Casey was in the game.

"Game over, dude," said Skip.

"Don't count those two lackwits out yet," said Mike. "They've got some dirty tricks up their dirty sleeves. They know where the mirrors are better than anybody in the store."

"I'm not sure Casey has a reflection," said Skip.

"Stow that talk, son," said Mike. "Whoever wins, _you_ lost."

"They boxed him in," said one of the greenshirts, looking at a monitor. "He's toast."

Mike shrugged. "Or it's a trap."

"I'll bet on trap," said Skip.

"No bets," said Big Mike. "Those two fools already fell for it."

* * *

"What are you gonna do now, Casey?" sneered Lester, his thin body almost completely hidden behind a pole. "You've got two darts–"

"And there's three of us," said Jeff, crouched behind a display.

"Two of us, Jeffrey," said Lester. "But two is enough. One miss–" click-click "And it's game over." He pivoted out from behind the pole, racking the action on his gun. "Ha! Now, Jeffrey!"

"What?" asked Jeff. "Oh…" He started to rise, and a dart flew past his nose. Casey had seen the feint for what it was, but it seemed he'd forgotten to consider Jeff's Jeff-ness into his reaction. "He missed me, Lester!"

Casey lowered his gun. "Dammit."

"Game over, Captain America," said Lester, stepping into the open. "One dart and two opponents means no victory for–"

Casey's gun snapped up. He shot his last dart into Jeff's chest armor and Jeff fell backward over the display. With his other hand Casey threw the dart he'd taken from his pocket at Lester, right into his mouth. "I win," said Casey.

"Oo fibbon niffee nimma neft," objected Lester, pointing at his chestplate.

"Fine." Casey pulled the second dart from his other pocket, marched up to Lester, and hit him right in the middle of the target. The first dart shot out of his mouth as Lester bounced off of the shelf behind him. "Happy now?"

* * *

Sarah raced through town, vastly annoyed. Jones was taking her place with Chuck, while she was stuck doing a routine surveillance chore that would normally be Jones' cup of tea. Russian agent, swanky hotel, identify the mole. Okay, maybe the tea was Lipton instead of Earl Grey. The whole spa thing would take a bit of finessing, especially the sauna, and if this guy Zevlovski was any kind of Russian he'd be in the sauna. The thickest, fluffiest white towel wouldn't do either Jones or her any good in there. She'd have to hang around outside, disguised as a maid or something, and hope to get lucky.

That damned Shaw. Of all times for Chuck to be stuck in 'training'. Shaw could have stayed in Castle, nice and safe, and she and Chuck could have been having fun with the whole stake-out routine, just like the old days. She had notes about them all. Good times. Dangerous, but good. There'd be music, of course, Chuck would never let a stake-out go by without his tunes. Shrimp or caviar? The one had some history to it, the other was more Bond. Bryce would have been all about the caviar, so she had to go with shrimp.

Dammit, now she was hungry.

* * *

Down in Castle…

Jones was heading for the stairs, bag in hand. Chuck came out of the men's locker room, all suited up for whatever Shaw had planned for him next. She gave him a polite colleague-to-colleague nod. "Agent Carmichael."

"Agent Jones," said Chuck. "Going out?"

"Nothing gets by you, huh?" said Jones. "Just have to go get some…training materials."

"You know, Jones…"

She waited, but he seemed to have run out of steam. "What is it, Carmichael? I'm on a clock, here."

Chuck resigned himself. "I was just wondering if you would like to go to dinner, later."

She looked skeptical. "What's the matter, Walker's busy?"

"This isn't about Sarah." Chuck pulled out his phone, and hit a contact. "Sarah," he said when she picked up. "What do you think about me and Jones having dinner together, later?"

" _That sounds like a great idea, Chuck,"_ said the phone. _"You two got off on the wrong foot, you really need to clear the air. Look, I'm kind of busy. You have fun and I'll catch up with you tomorrow."_ The phone went dead.

"Interesting relationship you two have," said Jones into the silence.

Chuck pocketed his phone. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," said Jones. Suddenly she smiled at him. "Sure, dinner sounds great. Anyplace special?"

"There's a new restaurant down at the station, called Traxx," said Chuck. "It's supposed to be pretty good. The most special thing about it that I can think of is that I've never had a mission there. Which is good, 'cause I'm running out of restaurants that will still let me in."

"With your track record I can see why," said Jones. "Sure, Agent Carmichael. Tonight at Traxx. I'll see you there."

* * *

"There you go," said Big Mike. Jeff's picture, with its vapid grin, was down and Casey's attempt at a smile was up. "We'll have to put it back the next time you get a Salesman of the Month award. Corporate ain't gonna spring for two of your ugly mug."

Casey nodded. "Understood." The picture wasn't so bad, but the paper crowns on the corners were a bit much.

"Congratulations, Casey. Now get those toys cleaned up and back on the shelf." Mike raised his voice in a general bellow. "Alright, everybody. Show's over. Back to work."

Chuck caught up to Casey as he was counting the darts. His shirt was white, his collar was loose, his pocket protector was in place. The pants were a bit high-class for the Nerd Herd but if anyone there had been prone to notice things like that they wouldn't have been there. "Guess who has a date tonight."

Great. Now Casey was gonna have to start over. "You passed Shaw's tests already?"

"I think it is the test," said Chuck. "Shaw suggested it."

Not Walker, then. "Jones?"

It didn't sound any better coming from Casey's mouth. "Not sure what he's up to, there."

"Me neither," said Casey. "You be careful. Walker's running point for me on a lead. I'll track her down and send her to back you up. Try not to get killed until dessert." He swept the toys into a box and looked around. "Skip, how much did you make betting on me?"

Skip knew better than to try to run away. "Um…"

"That much, huh? Here, you count this crap, I have things to do."

* * *

Sarah was really too beautiful for this sort of thing, the best surveillance agents are trained to be unremarkable. She'd been trained to be alluring, and deadly. To make her unremarkable took some work and materials, which she didn't have in the trunk of her car. What she did have were latex appliances and ugly prosthetics. The sight of her beautiful face with a grotesque blemish, or those glasses, made most people automatically and unconsciously turn away. Mission accomplished.

It helped that the glasses would record what she saw. She verified the number of entrances to the sauna–one, which made sense considering what they charged to go in there–and left for a more remote station. This felt like old times too, the bad old times, before Prague. Her in a bar, Casey for backup, Chuck off somewhere getting into trouble.

Her phone rang. _"Walker, where are you?"_ said Casey when she picked up.

"I'm in the spa," she said quietly. She didn't have to tell him _which_ spa. "The target should be here soon, so get in here. If he and this mole meet in the sauna I'm out."

" _They won't meet in the sauna, too much water, not to mention too public,"_ said Casey. _"Speaking of public, did you know Chuck and Agent Jones are going out to dinner tonight?"_

"Yes."

" _Did you know Shaw set him up?"_

She was blinded, by his wit, by her rage. "Get here now."

* * *

Shaw looked up from his work, spread all over the main table in Castle. "Sam," he said, as she came out of the dressing rooms. "You look good. Like the hair."

"Thanks," she said, raising a hand to touch it, gently. "It's not my usual style, so I'm glad you like it. Believe me, I wish I was wearing it for you tonight."

"Your dinner with Chuck?"

"You know about it?" She'd hoped to keep it under wraps.

"I suggested it."

She tried to look offended, but her stupid hair bounced, ruining the effect. "What on Earth _for_?"

"I had my reasons," said Shaw. "Sit down, Sam." He waited until she sat and then sat right next to her. He leaned in close, almost…intimate. "Have you ever heard of a Red Test?"

* * *

 **A/N2** I got the idea to turn this episode sideways by talking to Grayroc, so all gratitude to him. How I did it is all on me. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	45. Chapter 45

**A/N** Okay, we've had the setup, now for the payoffs. This chapter just threw itself at me, after the last one went out of its way to be difficult.

* * *

" _The best weapons are the ones they can't see."_

" _Game over, Captain America."_

" _Try not to get killed until dessert."_

" _Have you ever heard of a Red Test?"_

* * *

Chuck arrived at the restaurant, a little later than he expected. One of the darts had gone missing, and Big Mike, disliking shrinkage in any form, had held everybody back until the item had been found.

Chuck gave his name to the hostess, scanning the crowd to see if Jones was already here. With his height advantage he saw here easily, dressed in a professional outfit, with an expression on her face that made him want to rethink the whole 'date' concept. The hostess chose that moment to pick up some menus and lead him to the table.

Jones put a smile on her face. Only the hostess was fooled. "Where have you been?" she snapped, the expression on her face totally at odds with the tone of her voice. "I have things to do tonight, and so do you."

"I do?" asked Chuck. "No one mentioned anything to me."

"Probably because you were too busy looking for some kids' toys." She pushed a blue envelope across the table. "Shaw spotted me on the way out and gave me this to give to you."

Chuck took the envelope and raised it up, so that when he opened it she wouldn't be able to see his eyes. Sure enough, the photo of the man triggered a flash. Hunter Perry was a very bad man engaged in some very shady dealings with the Ring. Chuck wondered if Shaw knew this, and how. Shaw wasn't supposed to be running any Ring-related operations, but it looked like he'd found a way to manipulate Chuck into running one for him.

Chuck lowered the envelope, wondering what expression he'd see on Jones' face. "Am I supposed to know this guy?" he asked.

She looked…blank. Uninterested. "He's a traitor and a killer, that's all I know or want to know about him. Oh, and he'll be here in about five minutes."

"Five minutes?" asked Chuck. "What am I supposed to able to get done in five minutes? I'm not prepared to handle this."

"Shaw knows that," said Jones. She pointed at the envelope. "Just like that guy knows who you work for. That's why Shaw also told me to give you this." She pushed a napkin across the table.

Chuck lifted the top and saw a handgun. "What?" he said, covering the gun. "Here? Now? I can't just kill him."

"Oh, that's too bad," said Jones. "I'll miss you, Carmichael." She stood up. "You came here to dinner, without weapons, without even a plan. The only thing you can do now is pop him, that's what _I'd_ do." She flashed Chuck a bright smile. "Have a good night."

Chuck didn't watch her go, drumming his fingers on the napkin. Typical Shaw, trying to force the issue like this, trying to get a lethal reaction from him, or from the Intersect. Chuck had no intention of giving him what he wanted, even if Sarah had been the one to ask him, but of course she never would.

Just a minute left…

* * *

Sarah handed 'Ivan Drago' his towels, and watched him and his goons head for the locker rooms. She waited until he and his men swaggered into the sauna before she texted the information to Casey, as she left the building. Casey would wait a few minutes anyway before trying to go in, so no loss there. Even if Zevlovski left the sauna right after she left, he'd walk into Casey coming out of the locker room.

Not the best plan, but she wasn't about to let Chuck dangle at some dinner arranged by Shaw. He'd be all 'Agent Jones, you look great', and she'd throw him to the wolves before the hors d'oeuvres arrived.

John Casey pulled his Crown Victoria into the parking lot of the Cobalt Hotel and Spa at speed, even goosing it a little as he tried to avoid a Porsche on its way out. Not the smoothest handoff he'd ever had, but it would do, provided no one scratched his car.

He headed straight for the sauna, shelling out the ridiculous fee without a thought, keeping his eye on the door. In the locker room he stuffed his clothes into a bag and put it on top, out of casual view, just in case he needed a quick exit.

* * *

It wasn't his name, but Chuck had become sensitized over the years. "I'm looking for Mr. Carmichael."

Just a few seconds left.

* * *

The sauna was warm and foggy, as expected. Zevlovski sat on the far wall, facing the door with his goons on either side, conversing quietly in Russian. Fortunately Casey knew the language. As a compassionate man, he always wanted to give his enemies the chance to surrender as easily as possible.

There was no one else in the room, so whatever deal they had going down hadn't gone down yet.

Casey heard someone enter but didn't open his eyes. Whoever it was had shoes on, probably a spa employee. "Mr. Drago?"

Casey opened his eyes a crack, saw Zevlovski receive a note, read it, and crumple it up. He made no sign that he understood anything Anatoli said to his men as they all stood to go to a meeting somewhere in the hotel. As they left the room, Casey caught the number 'seven' but the door closed on the rest. He went and checked the note, but the ink had all smeared. _Who writes with water-soluble ink in a sauna?_

He left the room, ran to the locker room and grabbed his bag. Just then the door opened and the two goons walked in. "Boss' partner thinks we are being followed," said one in accented English. "So boss thinks we are being followed. And here you are following us."

Casey dropped his bag.

* * *

At the train station…

Of course the door that the bad guy hid behind was the one that opened outward. Chuck wasn't sure he'd ever seen a bathroom stall door that opened out but there had to be a first time for everything.

He lost his gun in the learning, and his new pants in the several quick slashes that followed. In a way he was glad the guy had a knife, since a gun going off in here would make a lot of noise and deafen them both.

Perry came in too close, secure in his possession of the only obvious weapon, and Chuck grabbed his arm with one hand and threw the handful of pepper he'd taken from the table into Perry's eyes. In seconds Perry was blinded and down, while Chuck had the knife in his hand and knew exactly how to use it.

* * *

In the locker room…

Casey pivoted on his bare heel, something he wouldn't have been able to do if he'd been wearing shoes. He swung his bag with one hand as his outstretched leg counterbalanced, something he wouldn't have been able to do if he'd been wearing his regular clothes. First his heel, and then the gun in the bag whacked the second guy in the head and took him down.

Casey took his towel, wrapped around the first goon's head, and wrapped it back around his hips. "What's the matter, you've never seen a naked spy before?"

Neither unconscious man answered him.

Casey changed in the elevator to the seventh floor, emerging as a hotel maid passed by the elevator. He hung back, letting her turn the corner alone, in case Zevlovski, currently goon-less, decided to watch his own back. He peeked around the corner, to see Zevlovski opening the door to one room and the maid opening the door to the room next to that. A quick check of the floor map showed the nearest stairwell around the corner, where he wouldn't be able to see anyone coming or going. He had to get into a nearby room, otherwise he'd have to get onto a balcony or something, and that was no business for a self-respecting spy. Casey'd always preferred the 'secret' part of 'secret agent'.

Casey walked slowly down the hall, and slipped a piece of tape on the doorframe so the lock wouldn't engage. He checked himself in the mirror on the wall until the maid came out of the room, deposited used towels, grabbed new towels, and went to the room across the hall. As she went inside Casey slipped into the room she'd just left, peeling off the tape. Sarah's urgency had left him no time to grab anything out of his trunk, so he had no cams to plant, even if he'd had time enough to plant them. The best he could do was crack the door and hope to see the mole's face, in the mirror across the hall.

Something in the room next door sounded very much like a muffled gunshot, and something fell heavily to the floor. Casey suspected immediately that he'd just heard an assassination, but of whom? Seconds passed, and he began to wonder what was going on. Surely the first priority would be to get away from the scene as fast as possible, and the hall was clear.

The stairs! Casey dug his dental mirror out of his pocket just in time, as the door next to him cracked open, feet moving rapidly. He saw the back of someone's head as they walked away, but he needed to see the killer's face. Just then the door across the hall opened, the maid on her rounds, but the killer in the hall turned to look back.

Casey frowned. Jones?

* * *

Sarah got to Traxx just in time to see a man push some woman in Chuck's way and make a break for it. Chuck wouldn't let her fall, and lost a second in his pursuit. Sarah lost no time, but she was farther away and in bad shoes for sprinting.

She saw Chuck jump a gate and followed him up a ramp into the train yard itself. She could hear them running somewhere, the loose stones gave that much away, but her main advantage in this scenario was secrecy. Men running in panic-mode have natural patterns they tend to fall into, so she could work with that. She stepped sideways, to the left, passing between two cars to a new path. The sounds were louder now and she sped up, knowing that their sounds would cover hers.

A gunshot! The train next to her echoed with the impact…up above her head? The running started again. Why would Chuck fire up? She moved forward, looking for the next gap between trains, happy but exasperated. A hot pursuit was no time for warning shots.

She moved into the gap between trains, and the man fell right in front of her. Dammit! He must have broken right instead of left. She kept still in the darkness, as Chuck advanced in good form. He stopped a good distance away, far enough that the man couldn't take his gun but well within the effective range for that weapon. "I gave you a chance."

Sarah wouldn't have. She would have just shot the guy in mid-babble, knowing the guy was just making a play for time. She brought up her weapon, knowing the guy's scrabbling in the stones was just a ploy of some kind. She watched his hands and feet.

There! An ankle holster, brought close to seemingly-frantic fingers. The man raised his gun and dropped it again, with a cry of pain as a huge knife impaled his arm. Sarah glanced over at Chuck, one hand still flung out, and smiled. An impressive toss, in the dark and a knife that size.

* * *

In desperation, Perry looked around for any escape, and saw her standing in the shadows, staring at Carmichael. He pounced.

* * *

Chuck saw Perry move but the dark had already thrown his aim off with the knife, and he hesitated to shoot, just long enough for Perry to drag something in between them. Someone.

"Drop it or she dies," shouted Perry, the knife covered with his own blood at Sarah's throat. His other hand held her wrist, preventing her from aiming her gun in spite of the wound in his arm.

Chuck felt it coming this time, the Intersect responding to sensory input of a far different kind than it had been designed to respond to. He was aware of every move his body made as the Intersect positioned it for maximum control, to deal with the threat Perry presented in the most efficient way. He fought it all the way.

* * *

Sarah saw Chuck flash, but the twitchiness was new, and she knew he was fighting whatever the Intersect was making him do. The guy must have seen it too, even if he couldn't have known what it was. He started pulling at her arm, fighting for possession of her weapon. "Gimme it, gimme it, GIMME IT!"

Sarah saw Chuck lose the battle, and tilted her head slightly to one side. The sound of the gun firing was drowned out by the sound of the world's largest insect buzzing by her ear. The guy let go of her, and she pushed the knife hand to one side as the body fell.

Chuck wasn't moving, gun still pointed at a target no longer there. She put her gun away, just in case. She pulled out her phone, selected an app, and spoke one word into it.

She walked over to her partner, his eyes tracking her movement. "Are you there, Chuck?"

"I'm here, Sarah."

"What's wrong, Chuck?"

"Error condition detected," he said. "Initiate download."

Sarah stepped past his gun and reached behind his head, fingers in his hair as she pressed her lips to his. The Intersect didn't know what to do with a kiss but Chuck did, and she could feel the stiffness of his position ease as he responded. Behind his head, she raised her other hand, with the phone. Held the phone to his ear. Pressed play.

"Reboot."

* * *

 **A/N2** So it's a little different. I've done a couple of scenes where the Intersect makes a person do something they don't want to. I'm surprised they didn't try to play that card here. Probably would have cut down on the angst. Can't have that. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	46. Chapter 46

**A/N** This chapter is a weird one. Very hard to write, and it diverges pretty sharply from canon.

* * *

" _Have a good night."_

" _You've never seen a naked spy before?"_

" _Drop it or she dies."_

" _Reboot."_

* * *

"Has it been four hours yet?" asked Chuck.

"More like four minutes," said Sarah, with a giggle. "Not even. And I don't think one of those Cialis-doctors would be any help in this situation. Don't worry. I handled it before, I can handle it now."

"Oh," Chuck gasped, "Ah." He had kept it up for what felt like hours. Sarah had been trying to help him with his little…problem, but there was only so much even she could do.

"How's that, Chuck?" she asked, a little breathless. The kissing had been wonderful, that is, had worked wonders. The reboot had been successful, and successfully resisted, but for some reason his arm had remained fully extended, aimed at nothing.

"I think…yes, I think that's got it," Chuck gasped, the gun and the hand holding beginning at last to give in to the relentless call of gravity.

"Good," said Sarah, stepping back reluctantly. She looked around. "Where's Jones?"

"No idea," said Chuck, massaging his elbow, trying to get it to bend. "She gave me a five-minute warning about this guy and vamoosed."

"She has to still be around, monitoring the test from somewhere," said Sarah. "I have to go. I'm not supposed to be here." She took a cloth from her purse and swiped at his mouth, removing lipstick traces. "Good luck."

Chuck smiled at her. "You're my good luck."

She smiled back before turning to go, picking her way with midnight silence between the cars, alert for any sounds. Hearing footsteps to the left she immediately turned right and merged with shadows, vanishing.

* * *

Sam Jones moved among the train cars, not entirely sure of her location, following the scuff marks in the stones. She stepped between two cars and saw him, Carmichael, gun in hand and his target on the ground. At least she hoped that was his target. His arm was still out, he must have just taken Perry down. Strange she hadn't heard it. She lifted her phone to her mouth. "I see him," she said softly. "Looks like he took care of Perry. He's moving around, cleaning up."

"Excellent," said Shaw, as if this was somehow especially good news. "I'll send a crew. Continue with the exercise."

She moved out from between the cars, wondering what kind of loser agent Carmichael must be, if Shaw thought he'd forget even the basics of after-action site maintenance. The air, channeled by the trains, brought the smells of blood and death to her nose, and she retched. "Yeah," said Chuck, looking her way, "You never quite get used to it, do you?"

He didn't seem terribly affected by it. She wasn't sure if she was jealous or not. "Good job," she said. "I guess."

"No," said Chuck. "In a good job he never would have seen me coming, and thank you for that, by the way, although I suppose that was more Shaw's doing than yours."

She raised her hands defensively. "Just the messenger."

Chuck stepped forward and picked up a gun, not anywhere near the victim's hand. "See if you can find his knife, would you?" He put the gun in his pocket and brought out his phone, on flashlight mode, and started scanning the ground around him. He flashed it briefly up a little past the body. "It should be over there somewhere. Big black thing. Probably got blood all over it, too, so don't just pick it up."

Ah, a knife. That explained why she didn't hear a shot. "Thanks for the warning," said Jones, actually sounding grateful. She took Perry's handkerchief from his pocket, since he wouldn't be using it any time soon.

"You're welcome," said Chuck. As she walked over to the spot he'd indicated, he said, "I gave him every chance to surrender."

"Of course you did," said Jones. "Better to just step out of the bathroom and pop 'em, you know?"

Chuck flashed his light at her. "Bathroom?" _In the middle of a train station?_

"You know what I mean," she said harshly. "Just do it. Do it and be done."

"You wouldn't let them turn around, let them see what's coming?"

"No," said Jones, looking down. "Not any more. Here's your damned knife." It looked sticky. She picked it up with the cloth.

"Stick it in his pocket, I don't want it." Chuck bent down, picking up something shiny from the stones, his spent cartridge. "Crew coming?"

She stuck a marker in the pocket with the knife, something for the cleaners to trace. "Yes."

"Good," said Chuck, putting the cartridge in his pocket, along with the phone. They'd taken care of the details, let someone else do the heavy lifting. The body was a lot easier to see in the dark. "Let's get out of here."

* * *

At Casey's apartment…

Sarah listened to the sound of her phone ringing. _Come on, Chuck, pick up._ "Are you sure it was Jones?" asked Sarah, looking at the photo of Anatoli on Casey's phone. He had left the mess to be discovered by that poor maid. He didn't want to but cleaning the scene would have told Jones someone was on to her. When the poor lady had run out screaming he'd slipped in to vet the scene and get some shots.

"Yes," said Casey, pouring himself a couple of fingers of his favorite. "But I can't prove it. No evidence, just like she was trained to do. She took the stairs, they didn't have any cameras in the one I took. She knows enough to keep her head down. That backward glance was a rookie mistake, but she's a rookie. Or she was."

Not anymore. "I never thought she'd be a good killer," said Sarah, looking at the almost invisible red stain on the red shirt. One shot, close range, and no mess. Chuck's phone went to voicemail. "Chuck, call me back the second you get this."

"I never thought she'd be a traitor," said Casey, as she put her own phone away. "Guess we were both wrong. She seems to be pretty good at both."

"Have you told Beckman yet?" Sarah slid the other phone back to Casey as if expecting him to take care of that right now.

"Told her what?" asked Casey, pocketing the device. "That an agent of the CIA killed a known Ring courier at the scene of a transaction? Even if Jones copped to being here, and there's no reason why she should, you know that's how she'd spin it."

"So you _have_ told the General."

Grunt. "Of course. She wants us, and I guess that means you, to get the proof and bring her down if you have to."

Easy for him to say. Casey hated traitors. Sarah sighed. "If I have to."

"What the matter with you, Walker?" said Casey. "You used to be a killer."

"I was never a killer, Casey. I was just good at it." She looked down at…something. "Today I saw a machine use Chuck's body to kill, like it was carrying out a program, and I realized that's what _I've_ been doing all this time. Graham, the Farm, my own father, everybody's been programming me my whole life." She laughed a little. "They wanted me to be a seducer, can you believe it?"

Casey had heard the rumors of Sarah Walker as an assassin even better than him. He'd come to know the reality of Sarah Walker on a long-term protective detail. Whatever 'honest' meant in the spy world, Sarah Walker was honest. Bullets don't lie. If there was one thing this woman was most ill-equipped to do it was to seduce, betray, or abandon anyone. "You're kidding, right?"

She shook her head. "They changed my lesson plan when they found out how much I hated working cons with my dad. Started doing more small-arms training instead." She smiled, grimly. "Then they gave me a red test."

Casey set his glass down. The booze was doing something to his hearing. " _You_ got a red test?"

"Not just _a_ red test. I got _the_ Red Test," said Sarah. She put her finger to her lips.

"Paris?" asked Casey, not doubting, just confirming. "That was you?" Sarah nodded. "Christ, Walker, that thing's legendary."

Sarah leaned on the table. "That _thing_ haunted my thoughts for days, my dreams for months. The worst day of my life. But I passed."

"The only one."

"No one passes. No one is expected to pass," said Sarah, pounding the table. "They prefer their red operatives to be broken, like cut diamonds. Leave that useless conscience behind. It made them more controllable, for as long as they lasted." She lifted her hand, studied it as it flexed. "I was bent–"

Casey saluted her with his glass. "But not broken."

"No, not broken, I know that now," said Sarah, standing upright. "I seemed a horror to myself, I can only imagine what kind of a horror I was to them." A self-driving killer. Only a person who still had their soul could suffer as she had. "My handlers were terrified of me, eventually only Graham had the nerve." She smiled, not grim at all. "I always wondered why they discontinued that program right after."

* * *

Sam Jones went back to her hotel room, opening the door onto darkness. No one was there, and she was glad for that. She didn't really want to deal with anybody right now. She flipped on the light, and stopped. On the table in the laughingly-so-called living area lay a package, wrapped in blue foil.

She opened the package, sliding papers and a small electronic recorder onto her table. The paper was a ticket. To nowhere, to anywhere, she couldn't manage to care, and tossed it onto the table. She didn't touch the recorder either, but that piece of business opened itself. Daniel Shaw's face appeared on the screen. "Congratulations, Agent Jones…"

She left it to play while she washed her hands. Again.

* * *

"Until now," asked Casey.

"Until now," said Sarah. She looked him in the eye. "Until Chuck."

"You think that was a Red Test?"

"It looked like one to me," said Sarah, the only agent alive who knew what a real red test would look like, from the inside. "Shaw doesn't care about Chuck, he just needs to make sure the Intersect works, something that can walk in, kill, and walk away again. Like me, but without the scary parts."

"Like Shaw himself, but with less personality." Casey considered the matter for a moment. "They think they have that now."

"They do, and I can't tell them otherwise." She pointed at Casey, so hard he could feel the touch on his chest. "Neither can you, or they'll just send us away completely and try again. I'm not going to let him be the person I was. Or me. They tried, but I'm not a killer. I'm never going to be a killer again."

"Pretty impressive body count for a non-killer." Casey poured a small amount into a second glass. One last shot. _And they say I'm not funny._

"That was my tenant," said Sarah, getting it. "I'm the landlord, and I'm kicking her out and keeping her stuff. The parts I like, anyway." _The parts Chuck likes._ She drank the scotch in one gulp, and slammed the glass down on the table. "The rest is going out in the trash."

"So what are you going to do when you find Jones?" asked Casey, keeping his partner on mission. "Throw that gun at her?"

Sarah thumbed Chuck's contact again, and heard his voicemail message start. She killed the connection. "Let me answer that when I find her."

* * *

 **A/N2** This story is beginning to scare me. I don't know where it's going. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	47. Teamleader

**A/N** Not a lot to work with here. Most of this opening was Chuck acting like the foolish figure the producers wanted us to think of him as. Since he wasn't that foolish, I'll have to come up with other stuff.

* * *

" _You're my good luck."_

" _Do it and be done."_

" _I got_ the _Red Test."_

" _I'm kicking her out and keeping her stuff."_

* * *

A finger pressed the elevator button. A pair of eyes looked upward, watching as the elevator started down. A hand reached toward a gun, uncomfortably snug, tucked into the waist of a pair of pants at the small of the back.

The elevator door opened, revealing an empty box, The person who called it stepped inside, pressing the button for the fifth floor. When the doors finally closed the weapon came out with no small amount of relief to the wielder.

The elevator didn't stop until it reached its occupant's destination, and only then did the gun go back into hiding, just in case. The door opened on an empty hall, and the weapon came out again, not aimed but ready to become so. Feet moved silently over cheap carpeting, approaching a particular door. No light showed beneath, a quick swipe with a rod indicated nothing on the other side, blocking a light.

* * *

In a building across town…

The elevator dinged, and the man getting off of it looked neither right nor left, like a man who knew where he was going and what he was going to do. Beyond a ritualistic checking of bar codes, so easily faked, no one interfered with him in any way, until he got where he was going.

Between the door and the body there was a morgue attendant. Not literally, or she would have died faster. The optimal resolution to the problem she presented, also far more elegant, took a little maneuvering first, but he achieved his objective, a moment alone with Hunter Perry.

* * *

In the hallway…

The cheap lock on the doorknob was no match for a CIA-issued electronic lockpick, light changing from red to green with ludicrous speed. It made a noise, but the agent on the outside could do nothing about that except move quickly and out of the line of fire. A flash-bang would have been the textbook approach, but the place had too many unknowns and the target had had too long to prepare. Hand twisted knob and knee hit door, as the agent went in and down and the gun came up.

The agent scanned the dark room, stepping inside and closing the door on the light from the hall. The bathroom smelled faintly of vomit. The agent scanned the room with the pistol's laser sight, pulled the door shut and stepped past it, to check the rest of the space.

Nothing. No one. Not even a sheet-covered shape on the bed, or worse, _two_ sheet-covered shapes. Not that Sarah expected there to be.

* * *

A little while ago, in between here and there…

Sarah called from the car, unable to remain standing still any more.

" _This is Shaw."_ His usual bland tones were even more bland over the phone.

"Is Jones with you?" She added an extra helping of direct and demanding, in lieu of banging his head against a table.

He didn't seem to notice. _"No, she's not. I last saw her on her way to meet with Carmichael."_

A 'meet' that he'd arranged. "Was it your idea to give him a Red Test?"

She could practically hear his eyebrows go up. _"Who else?"_

* * *

At the morgue…

This was not how he'd planned to meet, although it would have eventually been the manner of their parting, just as Perry was supposed to take care of his own middleman. Zevlovsky was dead, shot rather than stabbed, but for some reason Perry had missed their own appointment.

No matter. The gun went back into the case, and the magnetic field generator came out. He'd retrieve the package just as easily, and without all the sound effects, or the puke.

* * *

In the hotel room…

Sarah tucked the gun back where it belonged as she turned on the lights. The closet was empty, so were the drawers. No suitcases, no trash. The bathroom had no toiletries, nothing personal, just a damp washcloth that had the vomit smell.

Sarah pulled out her phone. "Casey, she's gone."

* * *

"Roger that," said Casey, sitting in his bedroom, where all of his surveillance and communications equipment had been moved. Normally he would have had it in the living room, but as a 'disgraced and cashiered ex-agent', that would have been hard to explain. On the downside, the people it was done to fool were not likely to visit, and Casey now was forced to spend most of his time in the bedroom. On the upside, he now had a lot more room out in the living room for his bonsai, and his sadly-reduced gun collection. "I'll get on the horn to the General, get a search started."

" _You do that,"_ said Sarah, sounding annoyed. _"Any sign of Chuck yet?"_

Another benefit of the bedroom view was that Casey could see Bartowski's windows, which were dark and had been since he took up watch. Half the equipment in the room was tasked with detecting any of his signals. "Would have told you if there was," Casey said, setting up a comm channel to the boss. General Beckman had given him her personal line for the duration of the mission.

" _Switching targets."_

"Thought you might," said Casey. They both were, since now it would be Casey's job to search for Jones' image on some outbound platform somewhere. "Good luck."

* * *

Sarah smiled. _I_ am _his luck._

* * *

The Ring agent stood there in the morgue, staring at the gel-covered blue metal capsule he'd just pulled up out of Perry's stomach, momentarily contemplating the nature of greed. Perry's greed, that he'd choke this down for money, suffer it to be dredged out of him for money. That he'd betray his agency for so little. He deserved to die for that alone. Betrayal should have a loftier purpose, not even betrayal at all really.

A setting of things to rights.

He lifted his phone to his mouth. "Package recovered."

* * *

Outside the hotel…

The guy at the desk was no more aware of her leaving than he was of her presence. Sarah checked the elevator on the way up and the stairs on the way down, seeing the remnants of an aged security system that was most likely there for show. This place wasn't the sort to trade on either security or privacy. She scoped out the space behind the desk and saw very little monitoring going on, nothing worth stealing footage over.

Her Porsche had one very special attribute, that no one, other than possibly Chuck, knew about. She would not abuse it. She would baby it, cherish it, even as she appreciated its abilities and put it through its paces. She wouldn't drive it while she was mad, or even slap the steering wheel in a fit of pique. In spite of her annoyance at the less than optimal outcome of her mission so far, she drove like a normal crazy person, and not an upset one.

'Less than optimal'? Who said stuff like that? Oh, yes…

* * *

" _Who else?" said Shaw._

At least Shaw hadn't been trying to evade. That would have just gotten him an extra helping of 'extreme prejudice'. "I just need to know who to kill. The Red Test has been discontinued. Ordering one now is the same as murder."

" _I set it up, Agent Walker. Either Chuck or the Intersect killed a man, I needed to know which. A test modeled on the Red Test seemed to me the best way to find out."_

It had seemed something else to her. "Or get Chuck killed."

" _A possibility, but unlikely."_ She wanted to be able to reach through her phone and strangle him for that blithe dismissal _. "Chuck is extremely capable and unpredictable. My expected outcome, however less than optimal it might have been, was that he would take Perry into custody."_

"What would be so bad about that?" It seemed like the best of both worlds, to her.

" _Because it would simply be Chuck doing what Chuck does. I'm trying to get beyond the baseline, which is difficult with an agent of his caliber. This was not a red test, Agent Walker. Chuck was not ordered to kill his target. Neither was he ordered not to."_

She'd said "Chuck wouldn't" before she remembered that for her purposes, Chuck had. And Perry would too. Perry almost did.

Daniel Shaw may not have been one to smirk, at least she'd never seen one on his face, but she could hear it in his voice, an unspoken 'exactly', as if she'd fallen into a trap. _"In which case he would have had to resort to the Intersect, my second most-likely outcome. Also sub-optimal, for a number of reasons, but at least we'd have known where we stood. The actual outcome, the optimal one, was my least expected."_

"Mine as well," Sarah had said, although she doubted they had the same idea of its optimality. As long as he believed Chuck had done what he'd done, that was the important thing. With Jones' building coming up, she had neither the need nor the desire to hear any more of Shaw's voice. "Walker out."

* * *

One reason Sarah drove so fast, aside from getting where she wanted to go quickly, was that she had to focus on the road and getting there in one piece, with no capacity available to ruminate. Now, driving away from her non-encounter with Jones, trapped behind the wheel with nothing else to do _but_ ponder, Sarah's doubts popped up like street signs and she pondered them, driving on autopilot. Shaw believed Chuck had killed, she knew that belief was false. Each was satisfied with matters as they stood.

Or she had been.

What would have happened if she had not been there, to provoke the Intersect into having that response? Would Perry be alive now? He had been down, disabled, Chuck could have taken him in exactly as Shaw had expected. Then she had been literally dragged into it, a test condition that Shaw had gone to great lengths to control, to remove from the equation.

That was twice, now, that Intersect had engaged, ultimately killed someone, to save her. Just her? Possibly. The next proper test would be to try again with other hostages, but there must be no further tests, at least not from Shaw. He would not be satisfied until Chuck was either killer or killed, and either one was unacceptable to her. Sarah wiped away something on her cheeks, tickling as it flowed. She looked at her hand, the liquid there.

She'd closed her hands often, in her life, life slipping between her fingers like star systems, like… tears in rain. Then Chuck had put into her hands the one thing she would not close them on, his own heart, and she'd held them open until now…Now, closing them felt wrong. She would have to again, she was sure, this life practically guaranteed it. For that sacrifice to have meaning, though, it would be to ensure that no one else _(Chuck!)_ would ever have to experience, to know, to _feel_ what she would feel.

No one needed to know that.

* * *

Sarah pulled into the lot and parked her car next to another. Lights were few and far between, but the Moon was bright. Somewhere out there she could hear the sound of water, bringing things in and taking them away again. She slipped off her shoes, and stepped out onto the sand.

It was cool under her feet, unsteady footing, but she was used to that. She had a rock to hold on to, now, and she sank to her knees behind him, wrapping her arms around him.

Chuck relaxed into her embrace, letting his head loll until it touched hers. "I knew you'd find me here."

His thinking spot. Of course he would come here after a night like tonight. "Always." _Never again._ She tightened her grip. "I will always find you."

* * *

 **A/N2** This is not the way I thought this story would go. I originally thought Sarah would take Casey's place, shooting the mole. Hopefully I can figure out where this story is going before it gets there. I hope you'll drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	48. Chapter 48

**A/N** The adventures of Ring Agent and the Blue Capsule of Doom continue.

* * *

" _Was it your idea to give him a Red Test?"_

" _Package recovered."_

" _I'm trying to get beyond the baseline."_

" _I will always find you."_

* * *

Chuck pulled his head back to look Sarah in the face. "You know you sound like a stalker," he said, "But in a good way."

The joke did not amuse. Even in the moonlight her glow dimmed, her grip on him loosened.

"Wrong thing to say, huh?" said Chuck. She nodded. "How about 'you sound like a concerned girlfriend with an incredible skill set'?"

Sarah smiled. "Better. I like–" _girlfriend_ "–concerned," she said, running her fingers through his hair. She tightened her grip, and he gasped. "And apparently I'm right to be. You realize I didn't need to use any of that incredible skill set to find you? You can't be so predictable, Chuck, it's dangerous to you." _To me._

"So I'm guessing you aren't aware of how bright the Moon is compared to the parking lot behind us, or those cleverly placed mirrors there and there?" asked Chuck, pointing.

Sarah saw the mirrors but wasn't placed properly to see what they reflected, not that she needed to be. "Oh," she said sadly, relaxing her grip, "In your special place?"

He nodded. "Afraid so. And if anyone other than a certain Moon Goddess had appeared in them, walking so stealthily, I had this." He lifted a tranq pistol from his lap.

She knew how accurate years of Duck Hunt and the Intersect had made him. "No gun?"

"In the block-box, with my watch and phone." Chuck shook his head. "I listened to Shaw once," he said. "Never again. I'll keep blowguns in my sleeves, the way Cruz did. Who says you can't learn from your enemies?"

"Dead spies."

"Exactly," said Chuck, putting the gun down. "If I'd had this with me Perry would still be among the betraying."

"And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the man I fell for," said Sarah, kissing him firmly.

He could swear she was glowing brighter than the Moon now. "Fell?" he said. "Past tense?" She nodded, and he smiled. "How far in the past?"

She tipped him backward into the sand and held herself over him, her hair a golden curtain, holding back the world. "A long time ago," she breathed, her face hovering above his like no moon, "In a Buy More far, _far_ away…"

* * *

Some time later, in a spy's bedroom far, far away…

Casey phoned it in. "No, ma'am, not Jones, Bartowski. Walker found him, safe and sound. They're on their way back now."

" _Not too drunk, I hope."_

Casey put down his glass. "Not his style. He went to that spot he likes at the beach. Moron had his stuff blocked. Can't say I really blame him." If they could track him so could Shaw. Casey doubted he was in the mood to hear from any of them, except Walker, and she didn't need trackers.

" _Does he have any new information about Jones?"_

"No, ma'am, he said they went their separate ways at the train station. It's possible she could have doubled back and left right from there." He made a note to check the parking lot for her car. "He said she seemed 'upset', but I'm not trusting his impressions right now."

" _Do you think I should slot him in for the Rome assignment?"_ Beckman's voice sounded hesitant.

"The 'jetsetting playboy' cover?" asked Casey, letting his lip curl but keeping the sneer out of his voice. "That's for lightweights. Bartowski's a plowhorse. He'll be fine."

" _You haven't even seen the man yet."_

"And I don't intend to, General, not tonight. Walker's bringing him home, said something about a reboot."

" _Hmm, yes. Turn off your surveillance."_

"Already done, ma'am. I'm bivouacked in my living room, and my Battlefield Sounds CD queued up for continuous play. I'll get through tonight alright. I'll worry about tomorrow tomorrow."

* * *

Tomorrow…

The glass of the Morgan Door vibrated in its frame, waking up Chuck and therefore Sarah as well. "Uh-oh," said Chuck.

"What is it?" asked Sarah.

"Earthquake, sonic boom, or Ellie got good news." They got up and dressed with spy-speed. As they came out of the bedroom someone opened the door from the outside, too short and male to be Chuck's sister. "Morgan?"

"Hi, Chuck," said Morgan with a smile, and a nod for Sarah. He put his suitcase on the floor.

"What's with the flowers?" asked Chuck.

"They're for Alex," said Morgan, holding them up, and a box of chocolates. "The guys at the lab said my strongest and most recent emotional responses would come back first. I don't know which kind this is but I thought I'd run with it." He looked at the stuff he held. "Is it too much?"

"Well…"

Morgan put the stuff on the table. "It's too much."

"You only knew her for a couple of hours," said Sarah.

"Yes," said Morgan, "But they were a pretty intense couple of hours." The door opened behind him and they turned to look as Devon came in.

"Hey, Morgan, I thought that was you." Dr. Woodcombe gave him the once-over. "How are you feeling? _Are_ you feeling?"

"Yeah," said Morgan. "A little bit different, I hope you don't mind. Tell Chuck how intense those hours were, would you?"

"Intense," said Devon, with the same tone he normally reserved for 'awesome'. He picked up the flowers. "Are these for her? For Alex?" he asked. "Good luck, she liked you."

The door slammed open behind them as Casey came in. "Who liked who?" he said, in lieu of something civilized.

"Alex liked me," said Morgan calmly. "And I liked her. That was the first strong emotion that came back to me. I had to guard her, protect her, but I don't know what I have to protect her from."

"Probably idiots like you," said Casey, looming over the smaller man.

"That I can do, sir," said Morgan firmly. "With your permission?"

Casey backed down. "She's twenty years old, Grimes," he said with a growl. Twenty years without a father, and counting. "My permission isn't what you need."

"Good, that's settled," said Devon. "Come on, Morgan." He grabbed the bearded one and started pulling him toward the door. "Chuck, put those flowers in some water, will you? Morgan and I have to talk to Ellie some more about that whole Africa thing. We'll see you in a few."

* * *

Outside, a car waited…

A man in the car held up a set of small but powerful binoculars to his eyes, watching a tall blond man drag a smaller bearded man from apartment A to apartment B. They'd been watching the little guy since he left DARPA, and now their patience was rewarded.

He raised a phone to his lips. "Inform Leader that we've found them."

* * *

In apartment A…

All three spies stood there and watched the door close. "What is it about my reboots and Africa?" asked Chuck.

"I don't know and I don't care, Bartowski," snapped Casey. "What I do know is that the General was almost ready to send you to Rome, God help us. People like Shaw go to Rome, Chuck, in fact I think Shaw did go to Rome, so you know what you say if she asks you if you want to go to Rome?"

"Send Shaw?"

Casey came over and placed a comradely hand on Chuck's shoulder, squeezing just a bit. "Let's try that one again."

Sarah saw the whiteness of his knuckles. "Casey…"

Chuck tried to move his shoulder. "Um, Burbank is where the action is, and my entire support structure is already in place?"

Casey let go. "Better."

"That's once, Casey," said Sarah, checking under Chuck's shirt for bruising.

"How many do I get?" Casey asked, checking his path to the door.

"One."

"Understood." His pocket buzzed, and he pulled out his phone, grunting a warning to his partners when he read the message there. "Sensors detected a Ring phone in the area." He looked up, putting the phone away. "I have to get back to my equipment, hunt those bastards down."

"Not a good idea," said Chuck. "However they got here, they've already reported in. Taking them down here, or using your stuff will send up a much bigger red flag than anything they've got now."

"So what's your plan, Bartowski?"

Actually Chuck didn't have one, but a few minutes later he did. He gave Sarah a hug. "You are gonna _love_ this."

* * *

In Castle…

For the millionth time, Shaw checked the monitors in the Buy More, searching for a hostile presence. The place just seemed to draw them in. For the millionth time he saw nothing but the employees going about their business, and for the millionth time he contemplated the self-destruct.

No need. Just take Chuck away and the place would collapse on itself. Too bad about Casey, but he'd made that bed himself.

Someone familiar approached the Nerd Herd desk, where the two deadbeats were driving away as much business as they could. Why was Chuck in the store, and without his uniform? What could he possibly want from those two?

* * *

Sometime later, on the streets of Burbank…

"I'm not loving this plan, Bartowski," said Casey, from the back of Loretta. "There's crap back here that's been stuck since the eighties. Not to mention the gear."

The gear was the whole point of borrowing Jeff's van in the first place. "What's wrong with the gear?"

"Half of it's antique, and the other half's illegal."

"Not to mention highly customized," said Sarah, familiar despite herself with the eclectic nature of the equipment.

"That's the illegal part," said Casey. "Looks like you were right, about this stuff sliding past the Ring's sensors."

"Actually, I was beginning to wonder about that," said Chuck. "This neighborhood is not a place where the van easily blends in."

"Stay in the shadows, Chuck," said Sarah. "That's what the police would expect anyway."

* * *

Around the corner and down the street…

The blond guy and a hot babe went into a restaurant. The Ring agents watched as the hostess positioned them conveniently near a window, a living and unwitting advertisement for the place.

"Looks like a nice romantic evening," said the agent in charge. Too romantic. Everything they had on this guy said he was just a married doctor, who somehow ended up in the middle of two of their operations. "Who the hell are you, mystery man?"

* * *

Inside the restaurant, Devon raised a glass of wine. "Here's a toast to everything you've accomplished, Ellie. Your fellowship, your sabbatical. Most of all, here's to Africa."

* * *

Up the street and around the corner…

Daniel Shaw sat in his car, watching the van hidden in the alley. He could detect no signals, they must be operating line of sight. He got out of the car to see for himself what they were watching so carefully.

* * *

"Eyes on Daniel Shaw," said the agent tasked with watching their six. He did a quick scan of the surrounding traffic.

 _Bingo!_ The team leader smiled.

"Looks like he's alone."

Leader lifted his phone. "Team 2, Agent Shaw is approaching your position. Intercept."

* * *

Speaking of interceptions…

"What the hell is Shaw doing here?" said Sarah.

"He's gonna blow the op," said Casey.

"He's gonna get himself killed," said Chuck. He grabbed his mask and opened the door.

"Dammit," said Casey, but he grabbed his mask too, and went to back up his partner. Sarah jumped in the back, to continue monitoring the leader.

* * *

"Holy cow," said Devon, pointing out the window. "They're mugging that guy in broad daylight!" He tried to rise, but Ellie held onto his arm.

"We have our phones," she said. "Take pictures, call the police. You're a doctor, not some kind of…" Her mind stopped short on making any comparisons.

"Whoa," said her husband. "Look at him fight! He's mopping up the sidewalk with those two."

* * *

Shaw ran for cover, a course which took him across the street, toward the alley behind the restaurant. Devon and Ellie saw him reach the sidewalk but he stopped there, raising his arms. From behind a potted tree another man stepped out, with a gun aimed at him. They heard him say something through the glass, but the words were meaningless.

Suddenly both men were pressed up against the thick glass by the sudden appearance of two more men wearing ski masks. Ellie found herself staring into the face of the first man, and he was staring at her. His eyes widened in recognition, before he was pulled away from the window by one of the masked men.

The gunman struggled with his captor, pushing back against the glass and striking him across the face with the weapon, getting a grunt from the bigger man. The gunman ran off, and the larger man decided to help his partner restrain his captive rather than give chase.

Behind them a van drove up, nondescript in an ugly sort of way. The smaller masked man opened the side door and the larger man threw his prisoner inside before leaping inside after him. The smaller man stepped into the vehicle and took a quick look around the scene. Seeing his audience inside the restaurant, he gave them a quick thumbs-up before slamming the door.

The van drove off into the darkness.

* * *

 **A/N2** How exactly did the Ring team know Shaw was taking Sarah to that restaurant in canon, anyway? Please drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	49. Chapter 49

**A/N** Okay, back to Chuck. I had a deadline looming for a short story that I'd been asked to do for an SF magazine, so I took a little break to get that done. Hopefully some of you missed this story, but with all the chapters that came out this week, probably not. The SF story was a spooky and creepy type of story, too, so this chapter is all banter-y and comic. Sorry about that.

I tried, but it's just too hard to respect Shaw in this section. He's so blatantly self-destructive, and insulting to Sarah to boot, just dropping her for a chance to die for his dead wife. Chuck and Sarah get a chance to be snarky for a bit, at his expense.

* * *

" _You sound like a stalker."_

" _They were a pretty intense couple of hours."_

" _I'm not loving this plan."_

" _He's gonna blow the op."_

* * *

Morgan heard someone coming, and stood up next to the fountain. When Devon came into the courtyard he asked, "Hey, how was date night?"

"Uh, an exciting opener," said Devon, "Good follow-through, and I think a strong finish." He looked behind him, at the arched entrance.

Ellie marched into the space. "Morgan, I need to talk to you."

"Okay, maybe not as strong as I thought…"

Morgan raised a hand to his chest. "Wait a minute, I think I just felt a surge of adrenaline. My heart literally skipped a beat." He looked at the heart surgeon in the room. "Why would it do that?"

"I'll tell you later," said Devon, a little glumly, "Once you're finished talking to my wife." He reached into his pocket for the keys, turning toward their apartment.

"No, no," said Ellie, reaching out a hand to grab Devon, not that he was in her reach. "You too, Devon. Over here."

Devon obediently lined up with Morgan. Neither of them looked like they had any idea what was going on.

Ellie glared equally at both of them. "All right, both of you. I want some answers."

* * *

Inside the casa de Casey…

The Colonel was in the middle of his report to the General when he saw the lineup. He looked out the front window at the dressing-down in the courtyard, reaching out to turn up the gain on his mikes, but there was only air under his fingers. He opened the window, hoping no one out there would notice. With Hurricane Ellie in their faces that seemed a safe bet.

He listened to Ellie with one ear and Beckman with the other. "What's the matter, Colonel?"

"General, we might have a problem…"

* * *

Outside…

Morgan raised a hand. "Um, I'd like to buy a question, Alex?"

"Dude, that's, like, two different game shows," muttered Devon.

"Save it," said Ellie. "I want the truth. You two have been giving me a song and dance for days. Tell me everything, starting with what happened tonight."

"Tonight?" asked Morgan. "Well, I went over to talk to Alex, Ellie, that was your i–"

"Not your tonight, Morgan," said Ellie, looking like she regretted having called him on the carpet. "Our tonight."

Morgan managed to look enlightened and confused at the same time. "Oh. I don't know."

"I know you don't, Morgan. Devon? And if you say 'I don't know' I swear I will pick up Morgan and beat you to death with him."

Morgan lifted his hand again. "Another adrenaline spurt, there. Ellie, you know I'm kind of squishy, right?"

"Devon's about to find out."

Devon held up his hands in placation. "It was just a mugging."

"Oh, a mugging," said Ellie, nodding. "It sure looked like a mugging, didn't it? Except for that third guy, lying in wait, making their victim stop, talking to him. _Not_ robbing him. Pretty strange behavior for a mugging, don't you think?"

Morgan slapped his hand on Devon's chest. "I got this one." He looked at Ellie and said, "Yes."

"Thank you, Morgan."

"Yeah, thanks, Morgan," grumbled Devon.

Ellie ignored that, if she even heard it. "Let's not forget the two guys who came out of nowhere in ski masks, and where have we seen _those_ before?"

"Ski masks?" asked Morgan. "In LA?"

"Seriously, dude," said Devon. "Not. Helping."

Ellie pounced. "Speaking of helping, why don't the two of you–" she ran one hand up Devon's arm "–help me–" one hand settled on Morgan's shoulder "–to understand–" a firm, strangulating grip on the collars of the shirts "– _What's. Going. On!"_

* * *

Down in Castle…

"What's going on?" said Shaw.

"You tell us," said Chuck, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Sarah. "Last we heard, you were supposed to stay in Castle."

"I saw what you were doing," said Shaw, gesturing at the monitors. "Thought you might need backup, but you already had some." He tried to look disapproving, but just looked…Shaw. " _Mister_ Casey was fired."

" _Colonel_ Casey is an independent contractor now," said Sarah. "Or did it never occur to you to wonder why and how he manages to stay in LA on a Buy More salary? It's a cut above mercenary work, a favor to his friends, he's already in the loop, and he gets to beat people up."

"Not a bad gig, if you can get it," said Chuck.

"Clever," said Shaw.

"You think so?" asked Chuck. He turned to Sarah. "Maybe that word doesn't mean what I think it means."

"It does," said Sarah. "He's just not using it right."

Shaw ignored them both. "Did _Mister_ Casey manage to get any intel on the Ring agent, before he managed to get away?"

* * *

In DC…

Beckman, watching surreptitiously as she had been forced to do for weeks now, pushed a button. _Let's see how_ you _like it._ "He did, Agent Shaw. His description of the Ring agent holding you at gunpoint closely matches that of an intruder who infiltrated our morgue and retrieved something from the body of Agent Perry." She played the video from the morgue cameras. "I'll spare you the details–the murder of the attendant, the spray of her blood, the open tray, the device he used on Perry's body and where he used it–"

"I thought you were sparing us those details?" said Chuck.

"I am."

Chuck turned to Sarah. "Does _that_ word mean what I think it means?"

"It does," said Sarah, patting his arm. "But not when Generals are involved."

The General involved said, "He obtained some sort of capsule. We believe it contained highly sensitive files."

"That's probably why the Director wants to meet with me," said Shaw.

"It's far too elaborate for that," said Sarah. "Is anybody _else_ wondering what they want with him?"

"Not really," said Chuck. "Given Shaw's obsession over his dead wife, and after the wedding ring fiasco even the Ring has to know about that, they probably have some straightforward scheme to play on that obsession and turn him into a double agent against us."

"Like I would," said Shaw. "I'd die first, and I'd take them all with me."

"The man who killed your wife would never give you a clear shot at him without some serious blast shielding in the way," scoffed Sarah.

"I don't care," said Shaw. "We just need a bigger blast." He looked up at Beckman. "An air strike."

"I'd never get authorization," said Beckman. "Bomb an unknown location in one of our own cities? For all we know it has an oil refinery on one side and a day care center on the other."

"We could try to make them _think_ we would, though," said Chuck.

"How?" asked Shaw.

Chuck handed him a little blue capsule. "You swallow this, and turn yourself over to them."

"A homing beacon? That's just what I was planning to do," said Shaw. "Why bother, if there's no air strike?"

"Because you'll also swallow this," said Chuck, handing him a second pill, much smaller than the first. "There's no way they'll let you get anywhere near their boss without checking you for trackers, so we give them one. If they're expecting an air strike attempt, and from you that would be a safe bet, they'll yank the big capsule and then take you to their base, thinking they foiled it."

Shaw looked at the large capsule dubiously. "Maybe we're moving a little fast…"

"Nonsense. That's just how the word 'clever' is supposed to be used," said Sarah.

"That's thinking like a spy," added Beckman. "Agent Shaw, make the call."

"Well, actually, General, it's thinking like a nerd," said Chuck as Shaw went to the block-box. "They did the same thing on an episode of Star Trek thirty years ago."

"You couldn't let me have just one brief, shining moment, could you?" asked the General.

"Sorry."

"Don't be," said Sarah with a smile. "You're Chuck Bartowski, the king of the Nerd Herd and a spy. Never be ashamed for acting like either one."

* * *

Casa de Woodcombe, post-interrogation…

"I'm sorry, babe," said Devon, handing his wife a nightcap. "I guess we went too far."

"Too far?" said Ellie. "No." She took a sip as he settled onto the couch next to her. "You went as far as you thought you needed to, and farther, and that's great, but you were going in the wrong direction."

He took it like a man. "It wasn't like we could come to you for advice."

"True. We're lucky you guys didn't end up in jail."

"Come on, we're not that bad…"

"No, but you're not that good, either." She put her drink down, taking his hand in hers. "If I have a problem, and I agree with you that I do, I'm not going to beat it by running away. Running away is a luxury that Chuck and I have never had, and I'm not about to start now." She stared down at their joined hands. "That guy recognized me, Devon. He knew my face." She picked up her glass and tossed the rest of her drink back. "But now I know his, and if he's smart he'll be the one running away, from all of us. You're a Bartowski too, now, Devon, you need to start acting like one."

"Tonight?"

"Yup. Tonight is a night for practice." She put down her glass, and stood up. "I'm your challenge now, Devon Woodcombe, and I expect you to take me head on."

Devon stood and swept her into his arms. "Yes, ma'am."

* * *

The next day…

The first step in Ellie's plan was to recruit her brother. There had to be _something_ he could do, with that fancy Stanford degree and all those electronics skills.

As she walked into the Buy More she saw Jeff counting down. "Three…two…"

Lester waved at him. "You can stop counting, Jeffrey, she's in the store already."

Jeff looked up. "She is? I must have forgotten to factor in the tailwind…"

"What are you doing?" asked Ellie, who should have known better.

"We were slapped in the face," said Lester.

"But not like normal," said Jeff. "Our years of stalking experience were derided, vitiated, treated as a nugatory nothing…"

"We are demonstrating our worth," said Lester, who wasn't about to let Jeff get in more words than him. "Proving that we can stalk with the best."

"Can you now?" God help her, she actually sounded interested.

"Pick a subject," said Lester. "Any subject."

* * *

In the Orange Orange…

"Okay, I'm heading for the rendezvous point now," said Shaw, looking a little pale. They'd offered him a cup of the guac to wash the big capsule down with, but for some reason he refused.

"You're tracked and mapped," said Chuck. "We have your back."

"Just don't let me see you."

* * *

In the Buy More…

"Oo, there's a target I want in my sights," said Jeff, staring out the window. "The zombie-master himself."

Ellie turned, and saw the man from last night getting into his environmentally-friendly vehicle. "Works for me. Get him."

Jeff started to move, but Lester grabbed his arm. "What's in it for us?"

"He's getting away, Lester," yelled Jeff.

"You can play at my going-away party," said Ellie quickly.

"Done," said Lester. He and Jeff ran to get Loretta.

"I thought you'd decided not to go to Africa after all," said Morgan, stepping out from behind a display.

"I'm not," said Ellie. "That's the beauty of it."

* * *

Following Shaw's to the meet…

"We've got signal separation," said Casey, monitoring everything from his bedroom. "Uh-oh. Hang back a bit, Chuck. There's a third signal on-site."

" _A third signal?"_ asked Sarah.

"Jeff and Lester," said Casey. "You can bet I want to know where that van is at all times. They're tailing the second signal. Okay, Chuck, it's clear now."

" _What the hell are they doing here?"_

* * *

Ellie's phone rang on the way back to her car. "Hello?"

" _Condor to Base, we're tracking the rabbit to his hole,"_ said Lester.

"How did you get this number?"

" _You have to ask?"_ said Lester. _"Your party of one has just become a party of five, and I'm a little afraid to be in the van with Jeffrey right now."_

"Where are you?"

* * *

In the casa de Casey…

"You've got Shaw's car?" asked the big man.

" _And the homing beacon,"_ said Chuck. _"Ew."_

"Yeah, I see it," said Casey. "Okay, I'll have to drop off to remote your Nerd Herder home."

" _What about Shaw?"_ asked Sarah.

"What about him?" said Casey. "Sending you his last coordinates now. In the warehouse district. Shaw's signal dropped off, but Loretta's right outside."

* * *

In a warehouse district, right outside...

"We've stalked your stallion to a dingy warehouse," said Lester, peering around the corner of another dingy warehouse. "It looks like a veritable wolves' den, a warren of thieves, vagabonds, miscreants–"

"Perverts," added Jeff.

"–Murderers, panderers, slanderers, philanderers–"

"Perverts," said Jeff again.

"A cast of villains right out of a Mel Brooks movie," finished Lester. "Do you want us to go in after them?"

" _You'll fit right in,"_ said Ellie.

"I didn't think so," said Lester. He headed back to Loretta and Jeff followed.

* * *

"We're clear," said Sarah.

" _Going in,"_ said Chuck. _"It's a soda machine."_

The classic elevator-disguised-as-a-soda-machine ploy. "That's old-school."

" _No school like the old-school,"_ said Chuck. _"And the combination's in the Intersect. Be right back."_

"You'd better be," said Sarah, to the static.

* * *

On the other side of the building…

"Jeff, what are you doing?"

"I'm diverting some fuel from this line, for Loretta."

"You're sure she can take it?"

"Don't worry, she can take anything." He patted the vehicle fondly. Fuel spurted from the pipe, and he tossed the hose into a drainage ditch while he fumbled the cap into place.

"Get in here," said Lester. "Somebody just drove up. We have to be ready to move at a moment's notice." Lester wiped off the side of the van, taking a deep, appreciative sniff from his cloth, before hastening to comply.

* * *

Down below…

Chuck left a trail of unconscious bodies as he sought out Shaw. Thank God for Duck Hunt. If he'd had to flash to shoot everyone his head would be killing him right now.

Behind the last door he found Shaw, laying on the floor, next to some kind of a stand with a flash drive still in it. Chuck pocketed that before trying to lift his…colleague, unconscious and heavier than hell. At least he didn't have to outrun an airstrike.

The platform lurched upward, driving Chuck to his knees, and he stayed there, letting the floor take some of Shaw's weight off his shoulder. One of the flash-bangs on his vest popped off when Shaw's knee hit it, rolling off the edge and falling down into the shaft before Chuck could grab it.

Once the platform reached the top, Chuck stood up, letting the upward momentum help him lift Shaw again. Once the flash-bang reached the bottom it bounced, the pin popping out as the explosive settled into a pool of noxious, foul-smelling liquid.

* * *

Outside the warehouse...

"I see someone," shouted Lester. "One man, carrying another. It looks like you may have been right after all, Je–"

Something exploded in the building, flames, noxious fumes, and dark smoke blocking their view of the staggering man. Shooting up out of the roof of the building was a plug of stone with what looked like a soda machine standing on it.

Arcing toward them.

Lester shrieked, "Run away! Run away!" and Jeff floored it. The plug of stone crashed to the ground right where they'd been just moments before, the death of the soda machine sparking off a second, much larger explosion at the oil refinery next door.

* * *

Sarah left her perch in the boarded up Kinder-Care center and ran across the street, certain she had seen someone moving just before the blast.

Chuck! There he was, staggering but alive!

She went to share his burden, and help him escape the fumes. Together they lay Shaw's body in the back seat of his car, and turned to look at the burning building. A brick wall groaned and fell over. "Well, look on the bright side," said Chuck. "At least they won't be following us _that_ way."

* * *

 **A/N2** I really wasn't planning to use Jeff and Lester at all, but Ellie's new plot arc paved the way. Who needs an air strike with those two around? Please drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	50. Chapter 50

**A/N** This will be a hard chapter. Sarah's not leaving, Casey didn't shoot the mole, and Chuck's already got the girl, so what do I have left to talk about?

* * *

" _I want some answers."_

" _We just need a bigger blast."_

" _I want to know where that van is at all times."_

" _That's old-school."_

* * *

Chuck and Sarah watched side-by-side as General Beckman poured a large amount of a brown liquid into a glass, downing it in one gulp. She gasped, "Okay, Agent Walker, continue with your report."

Chuck knew what time it was in LA, and the time-zone difference was no challenge to his keen intellect. "Um, General, isn't it a little early in the morning to be, um…"

"Having a little tipple?" finished the General, pushing the glass out of camera range. "Not at all, Agent Bartowski. While your partners may have inspired a _taste_ for 'Johnny' and 'Walker', your reports inspire a need for the same. I don't know of any libation named 'Chuck', but believe me, if I did–" She saw some hideous expression of joy come over Chuck's face.

"I just had a great idea for a cover business."

"Distilling?" asked Beckman. "It was tried, disastrously. The brand was so popular it became self-funding. They split off and have been acting independently ever since, to no one's benefit."

"Too bad, too," said Casey. With Shaw in the hospital he had no reason to stay away from Castle. "They're much better bottlers than they ever were as spies." He even liked the product, but institutional loyalty kept him from saying so, or buying any.

"We don't talk about them," said Sarah. "On the other hand, if you're looking for a good suit…"

"We have tailors enough in the US, Agent Walker," said Beckman. "Now, Agent Bartowski. The events at this warehouse, are they in any way another manifestation of the Intersect problems you've had in the recent past?"

"No, General," said Chuck. "If anything, they were a manifestation of the Intersect problems I had during training."

The General remembered those blessed, halcyon days. "No flashes at all?"

"None."

"Good," said Beckman. "Given your current experience level I'd be very surprised if you had to flash over every little thing. Questions were raised on this end, however, when it seemed you'd managed to have an airstrike without an airstrike."

"That _is_ something you could probably manage to do, if you had a mind to," said Sarah.

"Well, I don't have a mind to, okay?" said Chuck. "There were unconscious agents all over the place, I wasn't going to do something stupid and get them all killed."

"We all admire your scruples, Agent Bartowski," said Beckman. Casey rolled his eyes but didn't make a sound. "So please explain what you _did_ do, before Mr. Depak explodes."

"Well, to begin with, somehow Jeff and Lester from the Buy More got involved…"

Beckman reached for her glass.

* * *

Up in the Buy More…

Morgan came out of the break room at the end of his scheduled break time, adjusting his tie and vest to look properly assistant-managerial. The room was quiet, eerily, ominously quiet. The kind of quiet that comes before the storm, or before opening the doors on Black Friday.

All the employees were looking at the Wall. Every TV showed the same scene, some fire down in oil city. If you looked out the front window you might just be able to see a smudge of that black smoke against the sky. Morgan found the nearest and smartest of his men. "What's going on, Skip?"

"You'll see. It comes back around every few minutes." Skip left Morgan to it and went off to do anything else.

" _Is that a soda machine I see there, Biff?"_ said the anchorman, off screen. On screen were fire, smoke, lots of men in firefighting gear running around, and what looked like a fire-blackened metal box, smashed against the ground under a wedge of concrete. Pieces of plastic littered the area. The image switched to one of a man holding one of the larger fragments, with a brand name still visible, for the camera.

" _It certainly appears to be one, Stan, but how it got here is a real puzzler,"_ said Biff, also off-screen. _"One thing's for sure, the arson investigators will have their hands full trying to figure this one out. Back to you."_

Anchorman Stan came back to the screen. _"The police have already set up a special hotline for any information that might resolve this mystery, especially any information about this van–"_ the image flickered to bad video of an ugly, boxy, grey van _"–or the two occupants, who were spotted in this location moments before the blast."_ A man, overweight and balding with frizzy hair, wearing a white shirt and black pants, came around from the back of the van and climbed into the driver's seat, while a long, skinny, dark-skinned arm pointed out from the side window. Seconds later the van jerked into high-speed motion, right before something large and blocky smashed down and the image went to static.

Morgan pulled out his phone, and pressed a contact. "Ellie," he said when she picked up, "Turn on channel seven news, right now."

Behind him Morgan heard the most ominous sound in the world, the manager's office door opening as Big Mike took an interest in what was actually happening in the store. "Grimes?"

* * *

In Castle…

"Do we have anybody there now, General?"

"Of course, Agent Bartowski. Events of this sort are very easy to exploit. We inserted a team not long after the chaos started. Apart from its cause the fire appears to be perfectly ordinary, so we left them to it and focused on the warehouse." Beckman pressed a button and a series of images appeared, not that many. "The base was surprisingly small, with few operatives on site and no back door, suggesting a limited or one-time-use facility. To address your concerns, Chuck, the operatives all survived, although several were in severe respiratory distress, and have been taken into custody. Congratulations on such an effective reduction."

Casey grunted. "Too bad Shaw missed all of it, he could have used a few lessons."

Beckman kept a straight face, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. "At the very least it appears that the testing phase of Chuck's development is over."

Sarah flashed Casey a warning glance, before she asked, "How's Shaw doing?"

"Still unconscious but expected to make a full recovery. The doctors say he was simply tased at some point, judging by the burns on his neck."

* * *

In a hospital bed in some secret CIA clinic…

The man in the bed awoke and opened his eyes at the same time. No one was around except the machines, sensors attached to him to let their users know if they were needed, so he sat up. On the table next to him were his personal effects, a wallet, a ring, a small envelope, and his phone.

Which was on. And ringing. He picked it up. "This is Shaw," he said. "No. You wait there. I'll come to you." He disconnected, putting down the phone and picking up his wedding ring. He smirked. "And I'll bring a guest."

* * *

In Castle…

"As for the base itself, the only room of interest to us was the room where I presume you found Agent Shaw." The image became one of a small room with many screens, a small platform rising from the floor.

"That looks like an Intersect room," said Sarah.

Beckman nodded. "And it might very well have been designed as such, although we doubt that was the purpose behind its use today, since Agent Shaw survived."

"Not necessarily, General," said Chuck. "Considering that its data store was limited to the size of a flash drive, it might have been a small enough upload to survive. Or at least put some kind of programming information onto."

"Shaw could be some kind of unwitting sleeper agent," said Casey, sounding like he looked forward to finding out.

"A possibility, Colonel, but unlikely," said Beckman. "We considered such uses for the technology ourselves but the variety of limiting factors made it unworkable. Even a simple back door would require a control agent."

"It looks like they've made progress on something, though," said Sarah.

Beckman nodded. "We're very glad for Agent Bartowski's economy of effort, we never would have known about this if we'd simply bombed the place." The image zoomed in, to the little platform in the middle. "What progress has been made on the drive you found?"

"The encryption isn't in any scheme we know of," said Chuck. "I can work it out, but it will take some time. Given the nature of the room we can assume it's probably visual data, and given the nature of Shaw I think we can also assume what it's visual data of."

"Shaw could be some kind of _witting_ sleeper agent," said Casey, sounding like he looked forward to finding out.

"Stand _down_ , Colonel."

* * *

One end of a phone call…

"Tonight at 7:00, Union Station. We go to Mexico and after that, anywhere you want…I would like to go and see the Eiffel Tower at some point if that's at all possible. Don't answer now. Don't say a word…I don't want to have to convince you. I just want you to show up…Both summer and winter wear."

* * *

The other end…

Ellie pinched her nose, regretting that she stayed on the line this long. "No, Lester, I'm not packing for you, I'm not meeting you at any station, and where you two idiots go is no concern of mine." She hung up.

* * *

The first end again…

Lester put his phone back in his pocket. "Women."

* * *

Upstairs, in the Buy More…

Casey entered a number he was still reluctant to use and would just as soon forget.

" _Colonel, why are you calling me this way?"_ asked Beckman.

Casey checked six unnecessarily, well aware that none of the other employees would willingly share the break room with him. Not that those were the eavesdropping ears he was worried about. "I have information about Chuck's testing, ma'am. Shaw doesn't need to know it but you do."

" _Go ahead, Colonel, I'm listening."_

"Chuck didn't kill the mole," said Casey. "The Intersect did. Walker was there to talk him down again. Shaw doesn't know that either. He thinks Jones was monitoring the whole thing, and Jones isn't here to tell him any different, not that she could."

" _We'll find her, Colonel."_

Casey knew Beckman wasn't slighting him, but he took his failure to trace Jones personally anyway. "I know we will, ma'am."

" _I gather Agent Walker doesn't know you're telling me about these events?"_

"She'd probably kill me if she knew," said Casey, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder. "Chuck's not a killer, ma'am, not like us. She doesn't want Shaw breaking him while trying to make him one. There's more on that subject, ma'am, but that's something you should hear from her."

" _I understand her concerns, and I appreciate your confidence and your trust, Colonel. Thank you for both. Leave this in my hands, I'll see what I can do."_

"Yes, ma'am." He disconnected. Thank God _that_ was over with.

* * *

The Orange Orange…

Daniel Shaw sat outside in the parking lot. Today was not a day to rush things. Today was a day to plan, and then step…step…step, follow that plan. The first step in that plan was visible through the windows, waiting for him, although she didn't know it yet.

Today was the first day of the rest of her life too.

* * *

In the Buy More…

Chuck clocked out, anxious to get home and get to work in the kitchen. It wasn't usually his thing, and Morgan enjoyed it so much more anyway, but Morgan wouldn't be home tonight. If the Intersect could make him a killer then making him a chef should be much smaller potatoes, and he knew just what he would do with those small potatoes. He flashed, and smiled at the knife skills that were now his. He grabbed the door handle, prepared to push.

His phone buzzed. _Return to Castle ASAP._

* * *

In Castle…

Chuck and Casey met at the head of the table, as the screen came to life. "What do you have for us, General?"

"I recently had occasion to try to contact Agent Walker at the Orange Orange. I got no response, so I accessed the security logs and saw this. Agent Bartowski, please flash on any lip-reading skills you may have." The screen showed Sarah, sitting at the counter, staring at her gun. Suddenly she swept it into a drawer and slammed the drawer shut, going to wipe down some of the already spotless tables on the far side of the room. Within seconds, Daniel Shaw appeared in the doorway. He spoke to her for a few seconds, she moved towards the back of the store but hesitated. He took her arm, and they left. Beckman came back to the screen. "Agent Bartowski?"

Casey went to his boards as Chuck said, "He said, the Ring has information on you, more than you know. She said let me get Chuck. He said I have to brief you privately, too many eyes and ears here. She said let me get my gun, and he said sure, but it won't help you, not against this. Then they left."

"His car's not here," said Casey, apparently scanning the lot. He dialed the recording back. "There they go, they get in his car and they leave."

"We have to go after them," said Chuck.

"Why?" asked Casey.

"It's Shaw. He's been trying to split us up since he got here, and that was before the whole thing with the wedding rings. You think I'm going to trust him with unarmed Sarah after a day like today?"

"Nope," said Casey.

"I had you at 'Shaw', didn't I?" asked Chuck.

"Yup," said Casey.

Chuck turned to the monitor. "General, do you still have that air strike handy?"

Beckman pressed a button and disappeared.

Chuck sighed. "Fine. We'll do this the hard way."

* * *

 **A/N2** Please drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	51. Oathbreaker

**A/N** Okay, last episode for this season. What the hell can I do with this mess? Watch the scene breaks, I don't have the usual place-settings...

* * *

" _No flashes at all?"_

" _That looks like an Intersect room."_

" _That's something you should hear from her."_

" _We'll do this the hard way."_

* * *

Ellie sat in her car, staring at the burnt out wreck of a building, down the road and across the street. There was police tape blocking the road, and while she was willing to do a lot to resolve her many suspicions, she wasn't ready to cross that line. Jeff and Lester already had, those idiots, making it that much harder for her to get the truth she so desperately wanted.

That black-haired man knew her, and they knew that black-haired man, following him here for their own bizarre reasons. What else had they found out, before the situation had quite literally blown up in their faces? So many questions. Why would one of those Men in Black come here? Or five? Were they friends? Enemies? And if they had come here, was this place really the ruin that it seemed, or was this fire just another mask?

Could they be looking at her right now? Suddenly it occurred to her to look for cameras, but even though she didn't see any, what did that prove? Should she leave? _Could_ she leave, without drawing the attention she was trying to avoid? If she abandoned this quest now, so early, would she ever have the courage to take it up again?

Suddenly she saw movement.

* * *

Sarah and Shaw walked with every appearance of blithe unconcern, but appearances were deceiving. "Why are we here, Shaw?" she demanded. "You promised me answers."

"And you'll have them, Agent Walker," said Shaw.

"Here?" asked Sarah. "Are you sure?"

"Just give me twenty seconds." He reached out and opened the door.

* * *

"Not much cover," said Chuck, looking at the satellite image of their target.

" _No_ cover, dumbass," snarled Casey. He pulled on his mask, grey instead of black, to go with his urban camouflage suit. "Just run like hell and think 'rock' thoughts."

"You want me to think like I'm stoned?"

"Ha, ha, that's so funny, Bartowski," said Casey. Then he turned back and glared at Chuck. "Wait a minute. It really isn't." He turned to scan the terrain before them, in case it had sprouted Ring agents while he wasn't looking. Better to look twice, than to die once. "Let's go."

* * *

Morgan pulled in, putting the car in park. "You ready to do this?" he asked.

Devon sat there, staring at their destination. "I don't know, dude. It just seems so…final."

"That's because it _is_ final," said Morgan. "You want me to do it? It won't be a problem. I'm not really feeling fear much yet, so I'm not gonna be embarrassed, or lazy."

"Really?" said Devon hopefully. "Can you stay like this forever?"

"I don't know," said Morgan. "Ask the guys who made the pill." He looked at his hands. "But if it _is_ gonna wear off I hope it does soon. It wouldn't be fair to Alex."

"Yeah, that's true," said Devon. "You gotta treat the ladies in your life right, or they won't stay in your life very long." He took a breath, let it out. "Speaking of which, I have to do this. She's my wife, it's my responsibility."

"Okay," said Morgan with a nod. He popped his door. "Let's go."

* * *

Figures in grey crossed the ruined parking lot, went to the locked and blocked entrance to the burnt-out warehouse and disappeared inside with barely a moment's pause. Rings of glass and rust and dust circled the building, each as far as its mass would let it go. If Ellie noticed it, the arson investigators must have, and they would wonder what had happened inside, just as she did. Only the building's uncertain structural stability would be holding them back, giving those… men? They looked like men….giving those men a window of time to get inside and do whatever it was they planned to do.

Ellie popped her door, determined that the men in black, even if it was grey this time, would not get away with just doing 'something', in her life or anyone else's. She crossed the parking lot, wincing as her inappropriate shoes popped and crunched across the gravel and debris that was everywhere. The door wasn't really locked, it had been made to look that way to a casual passer-by, but she wasn't casual. She undid the mock-up and slipped between the tapes.

The dimness of the interior made her pull out her keys, with the little flashlight attached for seeing the keyhole in the dark. It wasn't meant for this but it was the best she had, and she clutched the keys tightly as she moved across the floor. She crept up to the ruined frame of a bent metal door, peeking around the edge into the next room.

* * *

The hostess tried, she really did, but neither Sarah nor Shaw was willing to be seated in front of the main window. They wanted, and got, a booth at the back, where they could each sit with their backs to a wall, and have a decent view of the room. Shaw asked her to bring two small glasses, and a pitcher of water. "Alright, Shaw, your twenty seconds start now," said Sarah.

"I met the Director of the Ring," said Shaw. "He was only a hologram."

"He didn't get to be the Ring's most senior operative by being right behind the door, where you wanted him to be," said Sarah, checking her watch.

"No, he didn't," said Shaw. "I saw him in a dark room, only enough light to see a small stand, and a flash drive."

"We have that," said Sarah. "Chuck's decoding the data on it now."

"I'll save him the trouble," said Shaw. "It has footage on it, a woman's death, in Paris. A single shot to the chest." He looked into Sarah's eyes. "The shooter was you." he gestured at her watch. "Are my twenty seconds up yet?"

A shadow fell over the table.

* * *

Chuck and Casey put on their NVGs once they were within the building, rather than risk a light. None of the blown-out windows had been on ground level, but why take chances. The door opened on a front office of some kind, maybe a waiting room. Hard to say, when the building had been stripped. Nothing showed up in their goggles. If anyone had come through here they hadn't lingered long enough to leave a heat signature. "Cover my six," said Casey, leading the way into the next part of the building.

The next room was a cavernous empty space, much as Chuck remembered, except for the place where the soda machine had been. "I doubt they went that way," he said. "It looks like it's caved in."

"Normally I'd say that was a good thing," said Casey. It would keep the locals out of their business. "But I can't see Walker and Shaw coming this way for their little meeting of the minds."

"Looks like Shaw got clever," said Chuck.

 _Had to happen sometime_ , Casey grunted, because he couldn't be bothered to say it. The best way to make sure nothing he said would get back to Shaw was by never saying it. Especially if it was complimentary.

Something made a noise, an echo in the darkness. The two spies raised their eyes to scan the surroundings, Casey's hand flicking out to signal Chuck to go elsewhere. They split up and headed back toward the entrance, alert for intruders, although in a building in this condition it could have been anything.

At the door, Casey tapped the twisted frame, and Chuck nodded, silently indicating that he saw it too, a place where the metal appeared a little warmer than anywhere else. Someone touching it, maybe? They did a quick check behind them, but saw nothing. More likely whoever stood here, if anyone had stood there at all, had turned and left. Casey drew his sidearm and led the way out.

* * *

Devon led the way into the restaurant, asking to see the manager, while Morgan looked around appreciatively. This was the sort of life he'd envisioned for himself, once upon a time, only now he saw it as a manager rather than as a chef, who would only have seen the kitchen anyway. _Hey, maybe I should go home and try flipping the shrimp now!_

He breathed out slowly, letting the ghost of that dream ride it out. He was a part of a different team now. Or was he? They hadn't made it official, or anything, even though they'd brought him in on a couple of spy-ish things. He was a good assistant manager, he'd be a good second-in-command, or whatever, more like last-in-command, but you gotta start somewhere.

And he had some serious spy skills, not like flipping some shrimp. He was very observant, for example what was Sarah doing here? Pre-laudanol Morgan would have just walked right up to her and asked, but the drug didn't seem to have changed him in that area, so post-laudanol Morgan did too. His shadow fell over their table and they looked up, startled. "Hey, Sarah. Mister Shaw."

"Mister Grimes," said Shaw.

"What are you doing here, Morgan?"

"An earlier version of me helped talk Ellie into going to Africa, it was this whole thing, don't ask, but now she's not going, so Devon and I are going around cancelling all the stuff we had planned, like the party." He spread his arms. "What are you guys doing here? It doesn't look like dinner."

"Reminiscing," said Shaw.

"Privately," said Sarah, hoping this version of Morgan was better at taking hints that the old one.

"Well, my excellent peripheral vision tells me that Devon has just come out of the manager's office, so I'll be on my way," said Morgan, backing away from their table. "Have a nice night."

* * *

Casey and Chuck pulled off their masks, sitting in front of the van's sensor equipment to check for any signals, any alerts to their presence here. "How could they not be here?" asked Chuck. He waved at his monitor. "This is the broadcast point. There's the signal."

"A locator is only any damn good if it's on the person you're trying to locate," snarled Casey.

Chuck tapped the panel, and the screen blanked. "Great. So now what do we do?"

"Well, the way I see it, we have two options," said Casey. "We can call my friend, Colonel Sanders…"

Chuck opened his mouth.

"Shut it!"

Chuck closed his mouth.

"He's got, air, armor, tactical…" Casey started to smile. "Everything we could possibly want to reacquire Agent Walker."

"I'd rather have you than a tank," said Chuck.

Smile almost completely gone. "Even I don't have that much firepower," said Casey. "And even if I did, it doesn't matter. Without proper intelligence–"

Chuck's phone started to ring. He glanced at the screen and put it on speaker. "What is it, Morgan? We're kind of in the middle of something…"

" _It is something spy-ish?"_ asked Morgan. _"'Cause you're not gonna believe who I just saw, or who I just saw her with…"_

* * *

"Reminiscing?" asked Sarah, as Morgan walked away.

A server came to their table with the two small glasses Shaw had asked for. When he was gone, Daniel took the salt seller and shook some salt into each glass, pouring in a small amount of water from his glass. "You were upset with me not too long ago, for putting Chuck through what appeared to be a Red Test," he said as he did. "At the time, it didn't occur to me to wonder how you recognized it so easily, but having seen that footage, it jumps right out at me." He picked up the glasses, setting one of them in front of her and the other in front of himself. "That was your Red Test, wasn't it? The one that everyone talks about."

Sarah nodded, staring into the glass. "The worst night of my life."

He nodded. "Mine too."

No, he wasn't mocking her, unless it was very subtly and he wasn't a particularly subtle man. How could her one shot have destroyed three lives? "What does that mean?"

Shaw pulled out the packet that he always kept near his heart, spilling the rings on the table. "Her name was Evelyn Shaw."

 _I killed his wife?_ "I…never knew her name," said Sarah.

"I know," said Shaw. Names and places, that was the protocol. Shaw picked up his glass, holding it out to her. She lifted her glass as well, waiting. "Tears," he said. "For sorrow." He drank half of the water in his glass.

Sarah drank the same amount from hers. For salted water it was strangely bitter. She cleared her throat, staring at their hands, holding the glasses above the table. "Why are we here, Shaw?"

Shaw swirled his glass, watching the water inside it spin. "My wife's death at your hands was a tragedy of the highest order, and I know you know that. Honestly, I can't see myself continuing to serve an organization that would order such a thing, but I have one last mission to perform, and I'm hoping you'll help me. I want to take this fight to the Ring directly, punish them for daring to use this event to manipulate me, us." He raised his glass. "This isn't for the CIA, this is for us. Help me make her death count for something good."

 _The worst night of her life._ Not tonight. Sarah raised her glass. "If I can, I will."

"Tears," said Shaw, touching his glass to hers. "For memory."

* * *

Ellie stood from behind a pile of rubble, afraid that they had somehow seen her and were, what, lying in wait? No, that was silly. If they'd known she was there they would have come for her. That logic got her to the door, from the inner door to the outer door. She looked to see the smallest corner of her own car, so very far away.

Movement. A black van, driving away at high speed. They were gone, she knew that in her bones, and she fled the scene as quickly as she could make her trembling legs walk.

Safe in car, safe in the anonymity of traffic, the flow of the world outside her vehicle helped her calm down. The hypnotism of the road. Go this fast, turn here, buy this. She'd always thought the alien conspiracy behind They Live was ridiculous, but she'd seen those men, standing by that hole in the ground.

She'd heard them talk, not words but tones. Disappointment, satisfaction. The one spoke with such…resolve, and the other grunted his agreement, right before she'd somehow stumbled over...something.

Her eyes widened. _Wait a minute…_

* * *

 **A/N2** Please drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	52. Chapter 52

**A/N** My daughter was in the hospital this last week, so I sacrificed my evening writing time to be with her. Slowed this down a bit, on top of the normal slowness of rehabilitating all this material on the fly. Anyway, here's part 2 of 6.

* * *

" _Just give me twenty seconds."_

" _The shooter was you."_

" _I'd rather have you than a tank."_

" _If I can, I will."_

* * *

Ellie kept an eye out for black vans as she got closer to her block, her street, her building. She pulled into the lot, one eye open for suspicious vehicles and another for her space, which hopefully no one had parked in today.

Nothing. That was good, right?

Her space, definitely. She'd had to complain to the manager enough about that, and even if Devon didn't complain, why should he have to lug all those cinderblocks around? The men in black, she wasn't so sure. She liked having them in a place where she could see them, but they weren't very obliging. She'd gotten them once, she was going to have to make the best of that.

But first, she needed to change. These shoes were terrible for sneaking around in, and sneaking around is what she had to do now. She'd heard a grunt, and sure there were probably a lot of people who grunted like that, and she didn't really want to think badly of Casey, but she knew she wouldn't be able to sleep well until she'd crossed him off her list, and she'd rather not get caught doing it.

* * *

Shaw and Sarah walked out of the restaurant not long after they'd walked into it, leaving a generous tip for the use of the table but not much else. As they made their way to Shaw's car, a black van drove up. "That looks like my ride," said Sarah, seeing a gray-clad Chuck behind the wheel.

"Say hello to Agent Grimes for me," said Shaw in an unexpected bit of humor. Morgan had to be the connection. Sarah had put all her trackers in a block-box at his request, and as far as he knew they were still in it.

"He's more than that," said Sarah. An agent was such a _small_ thing _._ "He's a best friend." She opened the door and handed Chuck the box before climbing in herself. "We'll see you at work?" she asked, ever mindful of their exposed position.

Shaw shook his head. "Go, make your report. I have information to gather, before our plans can go forward. I'll be in touch." He walked away, to his own car.

Sarah closed the door, and Chuck pulled the van away from the sidewalk. "Plans?" asked Casey from the back.

Sarah opened the block-box, putting herself back on the grid. "Let's wait to brief the General," she said, considering what she would tell them when that happened.

* * *

Daniel Shaw watched the van with his wife's killer and her partners drive away. He pulled out a phone, called the only number on it. "The hook has been planted. We can start reeling tonight."

* * *

"Congratulations on a successful mission," said General Beckman. She gazed down upon Sarah. "Agent Walker, you're looking well."

"I am well, General," said Sarah. "I'm sorry I put all of you to the trouble, and I really do appreciate all the trouble you went to on my behalf, but Shaw was pretty insistent."

"I wasn't worried about you, Agent Walker," said Beckman, "But I knew I had to do something about Chuck, or he'd do something outrageous."

"Like usual," added Casey.

Chuck looked scandalized. "Et tu, Casey? As I recall it was your idea to call in Colonel Sanders."

"You were the one who mentioned the tank."

"A tank?" Sarah cooed. "For me? You shouldn't have."

"He doesn't have the authority," said Beckman. She put her bottle and glass on the table. "But I wouldn't put it past either of them to try. So, how did you do it?"

"Morgan Grimes spotted her and called me," said Chuck.

Beckman looked surprised. "Oh." She put the bottle and glass away again.

"That's what I said," said Casey. "We were following a signal from the ruined Ring base, but it was still ruined."

"Agent Shaw lost his watch, probably at the site," said the General. "I think I saw the bill for that in today's pile." She lifted a thick sheaf of papers from her outbox. "Atlas may have shrugged but we Generals don't have that luxury." The papers went _slap!_ back into the basket.

Casey grunted his understanding. The paperwork of modern warfare almost made peace worthwhile. "We were both hoping, I mean, _afraid_ he'd gone rogue, betrayed his country, maybe tried to kill Walker..."

"Thank God he didn't," said Chuck, glancing at Sarah.

"Yeah," said Casey. "Thank God."

"So what did Agent Shaw try to do?" Beckman looked at Sarah pointedly.

Good question. Sarah only knew what Shaw had done, what he knew, and how he planned to use that information. Information about her, her own private shame. He'd wanted to brief her away from the eyes and ears of their organization. "Agent Shaw was trying to protect his partner, like a good spy..."

" _Like_ being the important word," said Casey.

Sarah let that pass. Shaw might have been a good spy, once, but he'd let his obsessions get in the way. Knowing what he now knew, she doubted he'd be a good spy again. Certainly not in the government's service. "He told me the Ring showed him footage of his wife's death."

 _Mm-hmm_ hummed Chuck in satisfaction.

Sarah took a deep breath, and finally let it out. "It was also my Red Test."

General Beckman pulled away. "You mean the government ordered you-"

Chuck stood closer. "To kill Shaw's wife?"

Sarah shook her head. "A picture and a place, that's all I was given," she said. She hadn't been ordered to kill a _person_.

"I'm sure the difference will matter to Shaw," said Casey.

"We drank Tears together."

Casey blinked. "You did?"

"What are tears?" asked Chuck, looking from one to another of his team. "What do they mean?"

* * *

Upstairs...

Morgan was crying. Big Mike had no idea what to do. "What's the matter, son?"

Morgan could only wave his hands, too convulsed by sobs even to speak. He tried to move in, hold on to his pseudo-step-father-figure-in-law, but Big Mike was having none of that. "I can't show emotions like this," he said, holding Morgan at arm's length. He looked out the window, where none of those green-shirted vultures were obviously watching them. "They'll get me if I do." He shook Morgan gently. "What's the meaning of all this...hullabaloo?"

* * *

Downstairs...

"Whatever you want them to mean," said the General. "While we are supposed to be intelligence-gatherers, sometimes we have to take actions we may not want to take. Clandestine agencies have clandestine rituals to deal with the fallout." She looked at Sarah closely. "Although I must say I'm surprised that someone who took a Red Test would need them."

Casey cleared his throat. "Evelyn Shaw was killed in Paris, ma'am," he said.

"Yes?" Beckman frowned at him. "What does that have to do with...?" Her eyes widened. "Oh."

"'Oh'?" said Chuck, a bit more harshly than one ought, to Generals. "What do you mean, 'oh'?"

If the General was annoyed by that it didn't show. "Agent Bartowski, Colonel Casey, you are dismissed."

* * *

Upstairs...

Morgan sat in Big Mike's chair, drowning in a sudden and overwhelming surge of emotion, as if every feeling he'd ever had had decided to come back and visit, putting their muddy boots up on the polished furniture of his mind. He didn't mind them coming back, but he'd come to appreciate the order and regularity of a life without them. Now that they were back, he didn't want to give that up, but there were _so many_...

* * *

On the stairs to the Orange Orange...

Casey checked the monitor. The store was empty, the customer base was small-to-vanishing, but he wasn't about to count on that. "Dammit," he growled. "What's _he_ doing here?"

"Who?" asked Chuck.

"Big Mike." Casey turned to go to a different set of stairs. "At least if he's here he's not in the Buy More."

* * *

Downstairs...

"Shaw wants to continue working with you, in spite of what he knows?" asked Beckman.

"He does," said Sarah. "We both want the same thing, the end of the Ring and the capture of its Director. Using this file this way was an insult to us both."

Beckman looked at her askance. "Are you sure that that's all it is?"

* * *

"Chuck!" Big Mike pounced on the tall Nerd Herd supervisor, not even wondering at his presence in the store so long after his shift. Casey paused inside the break room and slipped out after Mike had dragged Chuck off to some ghastly fate. When he got home, he'd drink a toast to Bartowski's gallant sacrifice.

"What's going on, Big Mike?" asked Chuck.

Mike pulled Chuck to one of the entrances to the HT room. "It's Morgan. The boy's off on a bender of some kind. I gotta go out and get a gallon of Mint Chocolate Chip ice cream."

"For Morgan?"

"For me," said Mike, shoving Chuck through the doorway. "I ain't cut out for this stuff. Good luck."

* * *

Downstairs...

"Sarah, you are an absolute professional," said General Beckman. "But even so, I can't help but think that it would be a mistake to put you back out in the field so soon. Your emotions have to be running high, even though you are controlling them very well."

"No, ma'am," said Sarah with a smile. "I'm not controlling them at all."

"I see," said Beckman. "And am I to surmise that this is because of Chuck's supposed Red Test? You were there, correct?"

Exit smile. "Casey told you."

"Of course he did," said the General, frowning, and Sarah waited for the hammer to fall. "You should know, Agent Walker, that for those of us who believe that our primary function is the gathering of intelligence, the whole Red Test program was best discarded. That aspect of Chuck's training, at least, is one I am happy to see fail."

"It did, ma'am. He lost to the Intersect, but he's still Chuck." Not a killer. Not Shaw's Chuck. "He's still my Chuck."

The General looked at her funny. " _Your_ Chuck?"

* * *

Upstairs...

Chuck found Morgan huddled in a chair, protected by, shielded by, hidden by every cushion the HT room had to offer. He was clutching one to his chest and his eyes were closed. "Morgan?"

Morgan didn't open his eyes. "Alex."

"What about her?"

"She's gonna hate me," said Morgan, opening his eyes at last. "Yesterday when I was on that pill I wanted it to wear off so she could know the real me. Now that I know the real me I wish I was on that pill again. I want to be the man of her dreams."

"The man of _her_ dreams or the man of yours?" asked Chuck.

"Well...wait, is that a movie quote?" asked Morgan. "If it is, don't tell me which movie, 'cause you always mangle your quotes and that ruins the movie for me..."

"Alex," said Chuck, and Morgan shut up again. "You saved her life, that has to have earned you a measure of trust. Just don't ever betray that trust. She's seen the best..."

"So let her see the rest?" asked Morgan. "Chuck, I don't even want to see _that_. It scares me."

"Do you love her?"

* * *

Downstairs...

"Do you love him?" General Beckman watched Sarah's face go blank. "Agent Walker?"

* * *

Upstairs...

Morgan whimpered into his pillow.

"I like the way you said that." Chuck pulled the pillow away from Morgan's chest. "You're so afraid of your past, I'll bet you haven't even thought about what your present will do to it, once you introduce them."

Morgan pulled his face from the cushion. "What does that mean?"

"Show those stupid emotions of yours who's boss."

"Alex is the boss." Casey's daughter. Morgan sat up. He could already feel her slapping their dirty emotional feet off of his shiny intellectual furniture.

"Exactly."

* * *

Downstairs...

"Yes," said Sarah. There was no Agent Walker in the room. "There was this ballerina..."

"You'll spare me the details," said Beckman, wondering in spite of herself how far back in the mission this ballerina appeared. Some of their reports mentioned an opera house, but no ballets came to mind.

"Yes, ma'am. You're not angry?"

Beckman shook her head. "About this? No, if anything, it's about time. I'll also be happy that my most trusted subordinate should no longer feel the need to lie to me in his reports."

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."

"Now, what about this plan of Shaw's..."

"He's going to-" The phone chimed, and she checked the screen. "That's him now."

* * *

Eleanor Faye Bartowski-Woodcombe left her apartment in the darkest scrubs she could find, and walked over to her brother's apartment, letting herself in with her key. She went into his bedroom, looking in his closet for any dark clothing he might have had. Somehow he'd managed to acquire a lot of dark jackets. She put one on and checked the lumps in the pockets. A hat, and ...gloves? Why would he need these in LA?

No matter. She put them on, soft and snug but not binding, and headed for the Morgan Door. The gloves had a really good grip to them, and she opened the window as easily as if her hands had been bare. She tried to walk normally, not stiff or crouched, and ended up crouching stiffly across the courtyard. In the parking lot a door slammed, and she threw herself into the darkness beneath the bedroom window of Casey's apartment in panic.

Casey walked between the buildings as he always did, but when he drew near Ellie's position he stopped. She froze, not even breathing as he scanned the area around him. Finally he grunted and moved on. She followed him as he walked past and away, her head and body turning. Soon she was facing a wall, and she moved a bit, to see into the darkness of the room beyond the window.

Lights flashed as they came on, but only in a small crack around the screen that blocked the window. Ellie couldn't see much, just a lot of electronics crowded around the bed, some of it _on_ the bed. _Where the hell does he sleep?_

Casey went to look at one screen in particular, his body language relaxing. He reached for a pocket, bringing out his phone, and raised it to his ear. "Casey, secure." He huffed out a laugh. "A three-man op and I'm the fourth, huh? No, I get it. Don't worry, I'll have your backs." He ended the call and put the phone away.

Ellie watched him go to a small box, entered a code and put his hand on a glass plate. The top popped open, and he pulled out the contents, some black cloth and a holstered pistol. He took some clothes, black clothes, from his closet, gathered up his safed belongings and left the room, flicking off the lights.

Ellie ran for Chuck's window and safety.

* * *

 **A/N2** I'm compressing three storylines into one episode. Ellie/Justin (without Justin) and Morgan/Alex, as well as the plot of Other Guy. There are a lot of bits in Other Guy that make no sense in this version, so the imports fill in a number of holes. Please drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	53. Chapter 53

**A/N** In this section of canon, Chuck and Sarah walk away and let Shaw murder a defeated enemy in an elevator. I hope I can come up with something a bit more heroic than that. Or funnier. Or both. Here's part 3 of 6.

* * *

" _That looks like my ride."_

" _We drank Tears together."_

" _He's still my Chuck."_

" _That's him now."_

* * *

Ellie practically fell into Chuck's room, barely getting the Morgan Door open in time. The lights were off, a mixed blessing as she struggled her way out of his jacket, forgetting for a moment that she had those stupid gloves on. And that stupid hat! She peeled them all off her, trying to figure out how she had found them before giving that up as a bad job and just stuffing them into the pockets, hanging the jacket in the closet. She backed away. Something touched her and she jumped.

Chuck's bed. Right. Inanimate object. She bent over and smoothed the covers.

A door banged open out in the apartment, and she sprang forward, crawling across the bed and falling onto the floor on the other side. Someone walked past the door, and another door opened and closed. She crawled back over the bed and listened for movement, but she was breathing too fast, her heart pounding too loud to hear anything.

She opened the door and stuck her head out. Nothing and no one. She left the room and went into hall, creeping toward the door. A door opened behind her and she ducked into the kitchen, grabbing a cast iron frying pan out of the drying rack and raising it up. The kitchen door opened and she prepared to swing.

She had no target. Morgan's head was considerably closer to the ground than Casey's. "Ellie? What are you doing here?"

She stared at him for a second, before remembering the deadly weapon in her hand. Right. Not her apartment. Morgan and Chuck both lived here now. She lowered the pan. "I wanted to borrow this."

"You have three."

"They're dirty."

Morgan looked at her funny. "Is something wrong?"

"Wrong?" she shrieked. "No, nothing's wrong. Why would you think something's wrong?" Outside, a door slammed, and a large shadow moved past the front window. Ellie shoved the pan into Morgan's hands and ran to the curtains, catching a glimpse of John Casey walking out of the complex dressed all in black. Black jacket. Black gloves.

Black hat. _A black ski-mask, maybe?_ She watched until he stepped into the parking lot and disappeared behind a building, off to be the fourth on a three-man op, whatever that was. And why would they need a fourth? Her hand found a doorknob, and turned it. Open, spin to the outside. "Thanks, Morgan, you're the best. Bye." Close.

* * *

Morgan stood there, holding the skillet and looking around for space aliens or something. Was it just him? He put the skillet back on the stove, refusing to think about how it had come into his hand. Too late to cook now, he'd have to get a pizza or something before he called Alex.

* * *

Casey sat behind the wheel of his beloved Crown Vic, pondering ponderously as he drove to the scene of the crime-to-be. All sorts of things wrong with this op, so sudden, like it had popped up out of the ground with all the research done. Or not done, which was the point. How could they know what they didn't know? He fumbled with his phone as he drove.

" _I'm beginning to regret giving you this number,"_ said the General.

"I'm beginning to regret everything about this whole op," said Casey. "Couldn't someone have come up with something better? We were just talking to Grimes…"

" _What did you have in mind?"_

"The Ring holes up in a meathook factory, Chuck and Sarah blow it up while I'm outside picking off the stragglers."

Three thousand miles away, he could hear her eyebrows go up. _"That's…remarkably vivid."_

"Blame Chuck," said Casey. "Six months ago I would have said having Col. Sanders on speed-dial, but I have Col. Sanders on speed dial and I've never needed to call him in six months."

" _Then have faith in your partners. They'll make it work."_

"They'll have to," snarled Casey. "Once they're in that elevator, they'll be at Shaw's mercy." Just like they were at his, but Casey could rest secure in the knowledge of his own merciful nature.

" _So make sure you have him at yours."_

* * *

In the elevator room…

"Is everybody ready?" asked Shaw, fitting a remote control panel onto the elevator computer.

Chuck looked up at the camera, saw it move up and down. Casey was on the job. He and Sarah had their harnesses on and cables in place. He nodded to Sarah. Their plan had him connecting to Casey while she was the contact with Shaw, and he was keeping to that division. "All set," she said.

"Go."

They got, rappelling down the shaft onto what Shaw said was the Director's private elevator. When they landed on the top Sarah said, "Okay Shaw, we're here." She looked at Chuck in confusion. "He said 'oops'."

"Why would he say oops?" Chuck lifted his watch to his lips. "Casey, why would Shaw say oops?"

" _There's a couple of Ring goons up there,"_ said Casey, and Chuck passed the gist on to Sarah. _"Shaw's fighting them off. Grimes' chop-socky movies have more style."_

"You watch chop-socky flicks?" asked Chuck.

" _Back in the day, when I was looking for my calm center,"_ said Casey. _"They used to have good technique. Nowadays all the fight scenes look like they got their moves from the same weight-loss videos. Uh-oh, the idiot's going for his gun. Move it, Chuck!"_ Chuck grabbed Sarah's arm and pulled her to the side, just as a shot came down the shaft.

"Shaw, what's going on?" said Sarah, not having to work at it to sound concerned.

" _Just a little Ring company,"_ said Shaw, sounding a little out of breath. _"Opening the hatch now."_

Back where they had been standing, the hatch cover for the elevator emergency access released, and they dropped into the big metal box. They lost no time arming themselves, moving into opposite corners by the door.

Chuck surprised Sarah by carrying two tranq guns. She muted her comm. "What's the second one for, Chuck?"

"Manoosh sent me a prototype," said Chuck. "Said he got the idea from a movie and asked if I could test it in the field."

"So you decided to do that _now_?"

"That's why I also have the standard issue," he said. "And of course, you, but if we have to use that boom-stick of yours in a giant echo-chamber like this, we're done anyway."

Sarah raised a hand to her comm, and they pressed themselves further into their corners. Sarah felt the buttons behind her and holstered her pistol.

The door opened and a man walked in. He reached to press the button and Sarah caught his hand and arm, pushing him back against the wall without revealing herself. The Director looked at the two of them as Sarah pulled her gun. "One, please," he said, with a British accent to his voice. Shaw hadn't mentioned that.

"You're brazen, I'll give you that," said Sarah. "Most people would react more to being kidnapped in their own elevator."

"I think you two have me beat in that department," said the Director, shooting his cuffs. "I suppose you've come for the Cipher."

Great, the Intersect's central component, and they had one. That would be some prize tech, a worthy distraction from their mission. "Is it here?"

"Oh yes," said the Director. He pointed. "In my safe, at the far end of that corridor, loaded down with traps and flunkies. They'll take you down in seconds."

Sarah raised a hand to her comm. "He's baiting us with the Cipher," she said. "Do we go for that, or just take what we came for?"

" _Probably just a ruse,"_ said Casey in Chuck's ear. _"I say forget it, this mission's enough of a boondoggle already."_

"The Cipher's a go," said Sarah to Chuck. She gestured with her gun. "Get out your phone. Have them bring the Cipher to you here."

"I'll spare you the trouble of making the usual threats," said the Director, pulling the phone from his pocket. "I know the drill." He made the call, then stood there waiting calmly.

They heard the sound of heels tapping toward them. A well-manicured hand reached into the box, handing the Director a piece of equipment. Unfortunately for the secretary, she started talking. Sarah grabbed her arm and pulled her into the box with them. "Code words?" she asked them derisively.

"We hadn't gotten there yet, but eventually," said the Director. "I must say, you're in it now. You came for me, what are you going to do with her? Shoot her and tell the building you're here, or use that cute little tranq gun your partner's holding? A bit of a giveaway, and it would make her hard to carry."

"I have a better idea," said Chuck. He pulled out the other pistol he had and shot the secretary with that. She went stiff by the Director's side, exactly like she had been.

"What is that?" asked Sarah, surprised at the reaction.

"The guy who sent it to me called it a paralyzer," said Chuck, not wanting to spill classified beans in an unsecure environment. "Something for people you don't want to slump over right away."

 _Until you're past them and out the door._ "Does it hurt?"

The secretary forced a _hnerk!_ sound out of her nose.

"Yeah, I'd say it hurts," said Chuck, "But, you know, Ring. And it does give me an idea."

"Take the secretary?"

"Why not? They usually know more than the bosses anyway…" He trailed off, hearing the sound of someone else approaching.

"Sir?" said a male voice. "We've heard something in the elevator shaft, is everything all right here?"

"Yes, we're fine," said the Director quickly.

"Are you sure, sir?" asked the man, stepping into the car. "'Cause that hatch looks–"

Chuck pushed him the other corner and shot him with the paralyzer too. "Let's speed this up," he said to the Director. "Or soon we'll be over the carrying capacity of this car, and that'll bring OSHA down on us, and believe me you do _not_ want that to happen."

Behind them, the doors slid shut and the car started to rise. "It's not me," said the Director. "You completely ruined _my_ trap."

Chuck and Sarah shared a look. First he then she touched little studs on their shoes, causing little light to go on. Pressing their shoes against the wall, they clambered up into the corners. "What?" asked Chuck staring down at the Director's astonished face. "You don't wear magnetic shoes in a giant metal box?"

The car stopped, the doors opened, and Ring goons flooded in, looking into the corners where Chuck and Sarah had been, but not up. Chuck shot them with his standard tranq, and the collapsed on the floor. He dropped down onto the floor with a grunt. "Oh, that hurts." Sarah came down without a word or a sound.

The secretary slid down the wall into a shivering, quivering heap, taking Chuck and Sarah by surprise. By the time they recovered the Director had his own gun out. "Well, that's not good," said Chuck.

"I'm afraid I have dinner reservations," said the Director, "So this is where we part company."

A gun fired in the hallway outside the elevator, and red spots bloomed on the Director's shirt as he slammed back against the wall, looking surprised. "Daniel?" he said, as he slid down to the floor, leaving a bloody streak above him.

Daniel Shaw stepped into the car. "I'm afraid I've decided to turn down your offer," he said, as the Director died. He looked over to the twitching secretary. "Good idea to take her, Sarah. They usually know more than the bosses anyway."

Sarah handed her gun to Chuck and pulled out the zipties she had brought for a different prisoner. Shaw watched the way Chuck held the gun and put his own pistol away. "You thought I'd go rogue?" he asked Chuck. "Turn traitor?"

"Not at all," said Chuck. "I trust you completely." Sarah huffed as she lifted the secretary's limp body into a fireman's carry. In the other corner the elevator guy collapsed, twitching, but only Shaw looked. Chuck cocked the gun, getting Shaw's full attention back, and said, "You go first."

* * *

 **A/N2** A little bit silly, a little bit serious, and hopefully a finish you weren't expecting. Please drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	54. Chapter 54

**A/N** Why would Shaw save the footage that proves he's a traitor in canon? Did he want to get caught? Just another instance of his self-destructiveness? Who knows? I know I don't. Here's part 4 of 6.

* * *

" _Have faith in your partners."_

" _One, please."_

" _You completely ruined_ my _trap."_

" _You go first."_

* * *

In Castle, post-mission…

General Beckman was less than pleased. "Agent Shaw, the purpose of this mission was to embed you in the Ring as a double agent, not to eliminate the Director. This wasn't a Red Op."

"I understand that, General," said Shaw, "But Agent Bartowski deployed new tech that wasn't in the plan. As more and more wheels came off, the Director eventually drew his own gun against my partners." Which was also not in the plan. "I did what I had to do, to protect them."

Beckman unbent a little. "Your concern for your team is commendable. Fortunately, they also managed to secure an asset of equal if not greater worth than the Director himself."

"The secretary or the Cipher?" asked Shaw.

"The secretary. The Cipher is undergoing analysis, but even a cursory examination has shown that the technology involved is greatly lagging. I'm told Mr. Depak burst out laughing. When he calms down I'll have him prepare a full catalog of its deficiencies."

"I would advise against that, General," said Shaw. "For two reasons. One, such a catalog would likely not be something anyone other than Mr. Depak or members of his team could understand, so the value of such an artifact would be minimal. Second and more important, there's an old Klingon proverb. 'If you don't want a thing heard'–"

"'Do not say it'," finished Chuck. "Shaw's right, General. If M's team can understand the catalog so can the Ring's team. Let's not do their work for them. Bryce could steal the Intersect because all the data was in one place, ready to be stolen. I say we learn from our mistakes."

Beckman nodded. "Very well. The catalog will be prepared but no one person shall have access to all the parts." She made a note. "Now, about the secretary…"

"Yes, ma'am," said Sarah, taking the hint. She glared at Shaw for trying to implicate Chuck in this fiasco. "First, I should point out that M's new darts worked extremely well. Not only was she paralyzed, but when the dart wore off she was still too weak to resist, or even to self-destruct. I found several such devices on her person during scan, and removed them before she could muster the strength to activate them."

"I'm sure Mr. Depak will appreciate the feedback," said Beckman. "Has she been interrogated yet?"

"Not yet," said Shaw suddenly. "I was able to get a confirmation that our mole was in Paris, but she wasn't able to say more."

Sarah bristled. All interactions with a female prisoner should have gone through her, the only female agent on the scene. "When did you ask her this?"

"While you were taking her gear for processing and destruction," said Shaw calmly.

"You questioned a female prisoner without Agent Walker present?" asked General Beckman severely. "Agent Shaw, you are suspended. You have five minutes to leave Castle. Agent Bartowski, see to it."

"General, what will that accomplish?" said Chuck, trying to inject a little reason into her entirely understandable anger. "We can't throw him in a cell, not for this, and we all know where he'll go the second he's off the premises, so why not use that? I would recommend instead that Agent Walker be assigned to escort Agent, I mean, _Mister_ Shaw to Paris."

Sarah rounded on him, frowning. She said nothing, but Chuck could practically hear the _Thanks a lot, Chuck_ boiling out of her ears. He understood. Now that they were together, any chance to _be_ together was to be seized with both hands, and he'd just thrown that one away.

"Why not you?" asked the General.

"I have a project I need to monitor here," said Chuck, hoping she would remember what that project was. "Plus there's a good chance Agent Jones is the mole. If that's the case–"

"We'll need Agent Walker in Paris to take her into custody," finished the General. "Very well. Agent Walker, you will turn over monitoring duties on the prisoner to me until I can delegate those duties to the LA team. You will accompany _Mr._ Shaw to Paris and find the mole. You will then return Mr. Shaw to Washington to face a departmental hearing and whatever charges may result. Dismissed." She stabbed the button with what seemed to Chuck to be an extra measure of venom.

"Good work," he said to Shaw, collecting his weapon and ID. It wasn't in his nature to call anyone 'numbnuts' or 'moron', but he thought it very, very hard. It usually didn't work for him, though. Maybe it was a girl thing.

"It doesn't matter," said Shaw. "This is my last mission. I'm done here."

"You're done there, too," said Sarah, shoving him toward the nearest stair. "Interfere with me in the performance of my duties again and I'll kill you myself."

* * *

Morgan wouldn't have thought of what he was doing as 'laying in wait' but that's what he was doing, sitting in his darkened living room, listening for the distinctive stomp of a prey that knew it had nothing to fear here. He waited for a second, to let his prey get settled, then went for the door.

Casey opened said door. "What do you want?"

"Can I talk to you?"

"No." Casey started to shut the door.

"Good." Morgan slid in between door and jamb as they came together, feeling more than a little like Indiana Jones escaping from some death trap. Except he was escaping _into_ this one. "It's about Alex."

Casey's hands paused on their way to Grimes' throat. "What about her?"

Morgan gulped, looking at those big hands with big eyes. "I just thought you should know, that we're officially official."

Casey turned away in disgust. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" He put his computer on the desk of his empty front room, next to his bonsai plant.

"Chuck did tell you that the laudanol finally wore off, didn't he? No, of course he didn't, I'm sure he had more important things on his mind."

"Like our mission," said Casey, opening his computer and calling up his files. "The one the General will want my report on real soon, so how about you let me get started."

"Whoa," said Morgan, staring past him. "That was a huge kick!"

Casey looked at his screen. _Dammit._ He'd closed it with the recordings from the security feed still playing.

"Where'd you get this?" asked Morgan. "I don't know this movie, and I've seen every Hong Kong chop-socky fight film ever made. I know fake, but this looks real."

"That's because this is real," said Casey, watching it raptly. "Footage from the mission. I won't say I like Shaw, but he's got a hell of a roundhouse." He slowed it down. "Check this out. Moment of impact. Bam!" Casey came to his senses. "Get out of here, Grimes, this is classified, and you never saw it, understand?"

"Okay, fine," grumbled Morgan. Spies got to do all the cool stuff. He put a hand on the doorknob.

"The laudanol wore off, huh?" said Casey behind him.

 _Here it comes._ "Yeah. A couple of hours ago."

No wonder Big Mike was freaking out. "So that was you who pushed your way in here just now, to talk 'officially' about my daughter."

Morgan couldn't make the knob turn. "Yes, sir. I found some…gas still in my tank, I guess."

"That's good," said Casey absently, zipping back and forth through the recording. "Keep it up."

"Sir," said Morgan. He turned and snapped off a salute, grinning. "Yes, sir!"

Casey glared at him. "Don't ever do that again."

* * *

Back at the Casa de Bartowski y Grimes…

Morgan came back to find his hetero-life-partner standing in his room, staring at his bed in the dark. It looked rumpled. "That's not my fault."

"What?" said Chuck, looking up. "Oh, the…thing…no, I wasn't thinking about that at all, although I'm pretty sure I didn't leave it this way…" He bent over to tug the covers smooth. "But I do have this odd feeling that something's wrong."

"I know what you mean," said Morgan. "Casey's over in his place, watching a fight scene straight out of Hong Kong and acting like a human being. Is your bedroom still bugged?"

"Of course not, buddy." Chuck looked up at the corners of his room. " _My good friend John Casey would never bug his partner's house!"_

Morgan laughed. "That's a good one, Chuck. No, you're right, not even John Casey is that paranoid."

"It's not paranoia," said a voice in the corner, "It's just a hefty dose of self-preservation instinct."

Chuck flipped on the lights.

John Casey stood revealed, wearing his best black sneaking-around-in gear. He sighed. "Which you obviously don't have."

"You bugged my house?" asked Chuck.

Casey folded up his ski mask, revealing his face. "Of course not."

"Then how did you know we were talking about you?" said Morgan.

"Lucky guess." He looked at Chuck. "Shaw bugged your house, nimrod, I just never got around to un-bugging it." He jerked a thumb toward Morgan. "Tweedle-Dumb was just over at my place, telling me that was officially carrying on with a girl two-thirds his age and still more mature than him. You can imagine how much I love that."

"You said I was good."

"I said you managed to exceed my expectations, and you did, although in your case the bar is kind of low." Somehow Casey managed to loom over Morgan without moving from the window. "What I meant, and I wanted to make sure you understood the depth of my feeling here, is that if you break her heart, I will break your everything. I just want to be clear about this."

Morgan scoffed, way over there on the other side of the room with Chuck between them. "Tell that to the other guy."

"What other guy?" said Casey suspiciously, taking a large step forward.

"Other-Morgan, the pre-laudanol version of me," said Morgan, backing away. "He's gone, he's out of the way, so far away even I don't know where he is."

"Try Paris," said Chuck bitterly.

"What's in Paris, Bartowski?"

"Sarah. And Shaw. He questioned the secretary on his own, found out the mole was in Paris. He'll help Sarah find her, or him, before he gets tossed out on his ear for breaking protocol."

"Wow," said Morgan. "Talk about not ready for prime time."

Casey rumbled thoughtfully. "It's dumber than I ever expected Shaw to be…"

"I know, right?" said Morgan. "Throwing away your job in this economy? And you know he's not getting a recommendation–"

"He's burned his bridges with the Ring…"

"You can say that again," said Morgan, pounding one fist into his other hand. He shook it out, wincing. "He turned those guys into guacamole."

"What guys?" Chuck asked him. There'd been only one guy at the elevator, and Shaw had turned him into Swiss cheese. Real, body-parts-on-the-outside human remains. The only other place Shaw was supposed to be was in the elevator room. Chuck turned to Casey. "Ring guys? But that fight was supposed to be staged."

Casey shrugged. "He changed his mind."

Yeah. At the elevator. "That's not what he said at the briefing."

"You mean the briefing where he torched his career? _That_ briefing?"

"He had to know what would happen," said Chuck, "Especially when he admitted it in front of the General, so why–?"

"So why would he do that?" asked Casey and Morgan together.

"He wanted to be fired?" said Chuck.

"So now he's not only officially not a spy, he is officially an idiot."

"No, Casey, not an idiot," said Chuck, feeling his way along a tenuous thread of logic. "He got himself thrown out. Deliberately. In the worst possible way. Beckman was ready to bounce him out of Castle." He held up a hand. "No bouncy-castle jokes please, Morgan."

"Awww."

"He'd have been gone and on his way, if I hadn't stopped her, if I hadn't…"

"If you hadn't what?" asked Casey.

"If I hadn't convinced the General to send him to Paris anyway, but with Sarah."

"Oh, well, that's good then, right, Chuck?" asked Morgan. "She'll keep him in line."

Chuck said nothing, looking pretty _maybe_ at the moment.

The computer chimed. "That's the General," said Casey. "Clear out, Grimes."

"You clear out," said Morgan. "It's _my_ house."

Chuck hit the connection, and General Beckman's face appeared on his monitor. She was in a bathrobe, or something else non-uniform. "Agent Bartowski, I'm glad I–what's _he_ doing here?"

"He lives here, General," said Chuck. "He's read in, he knows all the players involved, and he did come up with that successful Large Mart strategy last year."

"A thing of beauty," asked Casey, who had a taste for overkill.

"Whatever," said Beckman. "I was just informed that the secretary you captured went into severe systemic shock."

"She's dead?"

"No, it didn't get that far. Given the circumstances surrounding the case, I assigned a doctor. She was there when it happened and was able to retrieve the patient."

To Chuck's credit, the fact that she was an asset was not uppermost in his thoughts when he said, "That's good."

"Yes, but the secretary then told us that a black-haired man had drugged her, without asking her anything at all."

"Do we believe her?" asked Casey.

"She woke up screaming out of a coma," said the General. "I doubt she had a prepared story."

"So how did Shaw know that the mole was in Paris?" said Chuck.

"How do you think, moron?"

"It was a rhetorical question, okay?" said Chuck. "I'm just processing my horror, that I was a part of sending Sarah into the lion's den, apparently with the lion."

"We're going after her, General," said Casey.

"Of course you are," said Beckman with a smile. She disconnected.

Casey pulled out his pistol, checked the load. "Look at that, already packed." He holstered his pistol, rolled down his ski mask and took a step toward the Morgan Door, but only one. "Oops."

Chuck turned at the unusual sound coming from his partner. "Casey, what–?" He followed Casey's gaze to the Morgan Door. Ellie stood right outside. She'd seen everything. Heard everything.

"Oops."

* * *

 **A/N2** Please drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	55. Chapter 55

**A/N** So Chuck and Casey, flying coach, managed to get to the café right behind Sarah and Shaw, who had to have taken some official government plane and left at least an hour before them. Right.

Here's part 5 of 6.

* * *

" _This wasn't a Red Op."_

" _Lucky guess."_

" _He wanted to be fired?"_

" _Oops."_

* * *

Just outside the casa de Bartowski y Grimes…

"Nobody. Move," said Ellie, in a voice that stopped a few insects as they foraged. She stepped over the sill of the window, latching it shut behind her and blocking it with her body as if there wasn't a perfectly good door on the other side of the room. Which, effectively…there wasn't. "Now," she said, glaring equally at the lot of them. "Who wants to be the first to tell me that this is complicated?"

Three pairs of male eyes traded glances. "Uh," said Chuck, but then his phone rang. With a weak grin, he lifted it to his ear. "Hello?"

Ellie stepped forward and grabbed his wrist, pulling the phone out to where she could hear a man talk. "Dude, you better shut it down. Ellie's gonna be there any second."

Ellie took the phone. "Sweetie, do you know where you need to be? _Right now_?" She listened for less than a second. "Good, we'll see you soon." She tossed the phone back to her brother and glared at them all. "Well? Complicated?"

"Um, well, no, sis," said Chuck. "Casey's a Federal agent, I'm an agent. Sarah's an agent too, and right now she's alone with a man who we think wants to kill her unless I can get to where she is so I can stop that from happening." He choked to a halt, out of breath.

Ellie watched him gulp air. "And how do you plan to do that?"

"Extensive CIA training, computer-generated reflexes, and a thousand hours of Duck Hunt. My tranq guns are secured at our base, don't worry, I don't use real guns. I mean, normal guns. Bullets and stuff. I can also get whatever intel we have on Shaw, Casey, can you access the computer remotely and have all that stuff load out there?"

"Can I move?" asked Casey, watching Ellie like a hawk watches a much bigger and angrier hawk. "I need to go back to my gear."

"I see a computer right there," said Ellie.

"He needs backup," said Casey. "He needs me with him. I could get, I mean, _he_ could get shot."

"I'm going to Edwards," said Chuck, pulling his coat out of the closet. His gloves and hat fell onto the floor and he scooped them up. "Call the General, get me a ride. They've got a big lead, so I need to be more-plane-than-them. Wish me luck." He gave the room a thumb's-up.

Ellie's memory flashed before her scenes of a MiB doing the same thing, in the van that first time, collecting that terrible phone, outside the restaurant. In her mind those images were overlaid by the reality before her, the mask peeled away, and she saw Chuck's face, his compassion, his terror. He kept her husband safe. He watched over both of them, keeping them safe. The images held her as her brother fled the room, bumping into Devon on the way in. "Sorry. Thanks. Sorry."

Devon stayed where he was, staring at his scary hot wife. "Uh…"

She let Chuck get away. He'd be back. "You two sit there," said Ellie, pointing at the bed. Devon and Morgan sank down, looking like they had just discovered the difference between bravery and the absence of fear. "John, you sit there," she continued, pointing at the computer chair. "I'll get started with these two, but I doubt it will take long to wring them both completely dry and you were right about my brother needing help, so don't waste time."

* * *

Up in the air somewhere…

Chuck looked down at the tablet in his hands, a much lighter-weight substitute for the reams of paper he'd have had to take on a commercial flight. This flight, just to get him across the country to a slower connection in DC, was too weight-sensitive. The tablet held everything he had, everything Casey had managed to find of Shaw's career. Many years, many missions, and that was only the stuff they knew about.

All of it would be useless, he knew that going in. He could flash on it all, but nothing in there would have any bearing on what Shaw was doing now. Only in the carefully walled off spaces _between_ those missions, somewhere, would he find what he needed to know.

The tablet buzzed, a final communication coming in.

 **You're probably freaking out right about now, so cut it out. You don't have time for that. Focus on the mission. Shaw knows about your ladyfeelings, he knows about the thing, he even knows a little about being a spy, but for some reason he's always had this strange idea that you were some kind of idiot. Don't know where he got that from, but use it. Be Chuck Bartowski, the smart guy from Stanford. He won't expect that, God knows I don't.**

 **And don't screw this up. I need you two to come back so I can tell you all about the wonderful night I'm having.**

Chuck smiled. _He knows me so well. Poor Casey._ "Focus on the mission," he said to himself.

"Sir?" said a voice in his ears. "Are you talking to me?"

"No. Just myself. 'Focus on the mission.' Do what I have to do." _What only I_ can _do._

"You're a pretty smart guy, that sounds like a good flight plan," said the pilot. "I'll shut up now."

Chuck forgot him immediately, and opened the tracking app. Somewhere far ahead, Sarah's tracker beeped reassuringly in the dark. Follow that and he'd find her. He closed his eyes. He had to go into this fresh.

* * *

In another piece of air…

Sarah stood as Shaw came out of the bathroom. "Sit down, Shaw."

"Okay," said Shaw. "I was going to do that anyway." He looked at the gun in her hand. "What's that for?"

Sarah shot him, one dart to the chest. As his eyes closed she said, "I need to sleep, and I don't trust you." When he was out, she shifted his seat to a sleeping configuration. She could have just left him like that and let him wake up as stiff as a board, but that would be petty.

* * *

Next morning, in Burbank…

Casey opened his door at the first knock. He'd managed to escape Ellie's custody last night, but only because he had to arrange that jet for Chuck and he couldn't very well do that in front of her. She'd made him promise to continue in the morning and the General had given him permission to keep that promise, within limits.

Ellie, like all the best interrogators (and he'd been tortured by some of the best), looked fresh as a daisy, damn her. Casey had a mug of blackest and bitterest in hand, and waved her in with it. The main room was bare, but for his bonsai and Chuck's computer, still running its program under his care. He sat in the chair, and she started in on him, armed with everything those other two had given up, and a night to think about it.

* * *

Sarah stood at the top of the stairs, watching Shaw unsteadily debark. She scanned the landing field reflexively, as dark now as the other had been when they left. Left LA, left Chuck. Left home, to come back to this place, as opposite of 'home' as she could get, on the same planet. "I hate Paris."

"Me, too," said Shaw.

"Don't think that that gives us anything in common, Shaw." Sarah saw a cab approaching. "There's our ride."

"Where to?" asked Shaw. "The embassy?"

"No," said Sarah. "We're looking for a traitor. Until I know how that footage got to the Ring, I'm not going to trust official channels. We're going to the scene of the crime."

* * *

Casey's head was spinning, trying to remember what he'd said, what he could say, and what he absolutely must not say. "Did I tell you about the time he prevented World War Three?" No Intersect, just a video game. That should be safe.

"Glad to hear it," said Ellie, "But that's not what I asked."

"I can't tell you that, Ellie," he tried not to whine. "It's classified. I couldn't tell you if you were God. Not without authorization."

"That red-haired woman on the TV?" Great, so she'd seen that, too. "The one with the jet, that you can call up in the middle of the night _at an Air Force Base_ , for God's sake?"

"Yeah, that's her."

"Call her again."

"I would rather set my hair on fire and have you put it out with a sledgehammer," said Casey. "Have you no mercy?"

"I have a brother." And his computer chose that moment to start blinking and making a beeping sound. Casey leapt for the keyboard, faster than he would have leapt on a live hand grenade but not by much. "What's going on?" asked Ellie.

"Captured intel," said Casey. "Chuck had a program running to decrypt it, looks like it finished. I'm gonna have to ask you to–"

"Who is that?" asked Ellie. "I've seen her somewhere."

The screen showed an image of a woman, dark-haired, very attractive, smiling, not at the camera, but at whoever held it. "Maybe you saw her at the, um, around," said Casey, not that it mattered. Once Ellie turned her thoughts that way, the Orange Orange would be exposed, but he wouldn't be the one to expose it. "Her name is Jones."

The image lurched into motion, a home movie slowed to a series of still images by the decryption. The background could have been a lot of places, an old city or an older section of a new city. _Wait a minute..._

* * *

She sat in darkness, her best friend a dead soldier. Another one. She hated this city, once a place she dreamed of, but that was before her dream came true, as is often the case. Now she knew the ugliness that lay underneath the glitz. What she wouldn't give to be able to succumb to the glamour of it all again.

She'd been here less than a week.

On the table, her phone buzzed, an alarm going off. About time. She gathered up her things, few enough and all kept one go-bag for quick and easy departures. She left the bottles where they were, already wiped clean. A warning for the next poor schmuck.

* * *

The General had even arranged a driver. At his respectful "Where to, sir?", Chuck opened his app. Sarah's tracker was in motion, but not on a direct line from the airport. Odd. He touched history, and saw a path that webbed a small section of the city. _What the hell?_

His tablet buzzed. "Hold on a sec," he told the driver, as he opened the message. **Jones is a ringer for Evelyn Shaw**. It came with some images, smiling Evelyn and shot Evelyn and dead Evelyn, with Sarah looking scared in the foreground.

Chuck gave the driver an address, and told him to hurry.

* * *

Sarah and Shaw walked to the intersection, having gotten out of the cab a block early. "I never thought I'd be back here," said Sarah to no one.

"I come back often," said Shaw, "But this will be my last time, I think."

That sounded vague, and vague was bad. Sarah turned to face him, her hand automatically going for her gun. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Daniel!"

 _A trap!_ Sarah spun, her gun aimed at a figure just stepping out of the shadows, when she felt a prick in her neck and a burst of fire along every nerve in her body. She locked up, muscles fighting each other.

Shaw moved in front of her, but she couldn't pull the trigger. She lowered the gun when he pushed, her larger muscles pulling down. "Not this time, Agent Walker," he said softly. "Not this time. I'm here to save her this time. You won't get your chance to kill her, not when I'm here to kill you."

"Daniel? What's she doing here?" Sam Jones came into the light, her hair, her appearance so much like Evelyn Shaw's that night that Sarah thought she was seeing a ghost. "She'd better not be the guest you mentioned."

"She's here to kill you," said Shaw, and Jones stopped with a gasp. Sarah tried to force out a negation but the only thing that came out was a low-pitched moan that only Shaw heard. "They think you've been turned. Graham ordered your death–"

"Director Graham?" said Jones, confused. "He's been dead for years."

"Beckman, then. The government," rambled Shaw. Sarah saw the barest flicker as he re-arranged his reality to suit the occasional inconvenient fact. "It doesn't matter. They're all the same, and I'll destroy them all for it. They betrayed the wrong man."

"What are you talking about?" said Jones. "It's me she's after, you just said so. And where's the rest of them?"

"They're not coming," said Shaw with a smirk. "She thought she knocked me out, in the plane, but I took a tranq antagonist in the bathroom. She's got no trackers, no way for anyone to find the body."

"Body? What body?" Jones looked at Shaw trying to pull Sarah's gun from her grip. " _Her_ body? Don't be ridiculous, you can't kill her, we're on the same side."

"Not anymore," said Shaw. "There's only our side, Eve, yours and mine."

Jones frowned. "Who's Eve?"

Shaw let go of the gun. "How about we show Agent Walker how beautiful the river is at night…"

" _Who's Eve?"_

"Sarah!" Chuck shouted, running up the street.

"Eve, your gun," said Shaw. When she hesitated, Shaw grabbed her bag, pulling out her pistol and throwing the rest on the ground. He stepped around Sarah and put the gun to her head. "Stop there, Chuck. I have nothing against you, but Walker has to die for what she did to my wife."

Jones paused, reaching for her bag. "You have a wife?"

"Had," said Chuck. "Evelyn Shaw, killed five years ago by Agent Sarah Walker, in the last official Red Test ever given."

"But what about _my_ Red Test?" wailed Jones. "I killed that guy!"

"Unsanctioned," said Chuck.

"Unsanctioned?" Jones grabbed her bag off the ground, started hitting Shaw with it, shrieking, "You told me to do it! You said it make me one of the elite, the best of the best! You murdered my dreams, bastard!"

"We all thought you were the mole," said Chuck.

Jones stopped hitting Shaw. "I'm not a mole," she said in total confusion.

"I needed to give Walker a reason to come to Paris," said Shaw, ignoring Jones. "How'd you find us?"

"You may have left her tracker in a cab but you carry yours with you wherever you go." Chuck held up his tablet, with the picture of a toppling Eve glowing from the screen. "I've seen the pictures, Shaw. This is where Eve died." His finger slid along the screen, and a new picture moved over to take its place, a young woman, smiling for the camera.

"That's me," said Jones. "That's Eve? Is that what this was all about? These clothes?" She grabbed her head. "This hair?"

Sarah toppled, pulling Shaw over with her. Eve swung her bag around and caught him under the jaw, snapping his head back and making him let go of Sarah. Chuck ran forward and caught Sarah as Jones drove Shaw back toward the bridge like a berserker, screaming obscenities. Shaw either could not or would not resist her, until the low wall of the bridge caught him behind the back. He grabbed the bag on the next swing and pulled Jones in close. "Stop hitting me."

"Let go of me, you psycho! Maybe my career is dead but you and I are more dead."

"I did all this for you, Eve," said Shaw. "I did _everything_ for you."

"My name's not Eve!" She kneed him in the groin.

Shaw bent, slightly, but he didn't let go, and when he came back up the gun came up with him.

"No," whispered Sarah. She tried to raise her arm but the prolonged stress on her muscles had left them all exhausted. "Chuck…"

Chuck raised her arm for her, slid his arm down to her wrist, her hand. His finger slid over hers on the trigger. "Shaw, don't do this," he yelled.

"Stay out of this, Chuck," shouted Shaw. "This is between me _and my wife_!" His gun arm came up, dragging Jones in close.

Sarah's finger twitched, and Chuck's finger twitched more. Together they squeezed the trigger, her gun booming in their joined hands. A red spot bloomed on Shaw's chest, followed by another, and then another. Sarah sank to the ground as Shaw stumbled, and Chuck knelt with her, holding her upright.

Shaw fell off the bridge, his hand clamped on Jones' wrist with all his remaining strength. She fell half over the wall, screaming, and Chuck left Sarah kneeling to race forward and grab her arm. Shaw stared up at her, his grip weakening. Chuck was tempted to release the catch on her watch, but Shaw let go first, plunging into the cold, dark water far below.

Jones fell backward, kicking, and Chuck let her go, racing back to hold Sarah before she toppled. He took the gun from her hand, putting it in his pocket, along with the paralyzer. He signaled for the driver, as they waited together, watching a beautiful young woman sob among the shards of her life.

* * *

 **A/N2** A bit long, a bit sad, but this was supposed to be a sad season, even sadder than I made it here. I usually don't make my OCs so important to the story, and Jones wasn't meant to be anything at the start, but then Shaw had to go and save her life. Please drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


	56. Chapter 56

**A/N** Wow, this thing has gone sideways, hasn't it? When I first thought of the Rough Draft concept, I was just thinking that the death of Shaw would lead Chuck to become unable to flash, to quit the CIA, and all that stuff in S5. There was no Agent Jones. Maybe there should have been. Now Chuck has killed Shaw in cooperation with Sarah, his muscle to her will, and I don't know how they'll deal with that, except that it will be together.

Here's part 6 of 6.

* * *

" _Nobody. Move."_

" _I don't trust you."_

" _There's only our side."_

" _My name's not Eve!"_

* * *

Chuck sat at the table in the hotel suite Beckman had arranged for them, typing on his computer. Missions end, enemies come and go, but paperwork is forever. Fortunately the driver had been able to handle the checking in part of the whole thing, since neither Sarah nor Jones was up to a public appearance.

Chuck had carried Sarah up to the rooms, but Jones had shuffled along for herself, unwilling to let anyone touch her. Chuck carried Sarah to the bed in one room while Jones just stood there. At his urging she went to the bed in the other room and toppled into it. Chuck hadn't even tried to take her shoes off, just pulled the covers over her and left the room, keeping up a soft running commentary the whole time. He was good at those.

He carefully left the door ajar, not so much that they could hear her as that she could hear them. Shaw had isolated Jones at the worst possible moment. They were going to need professional help to undo that damage, but for now they could only give her light contact, like the sound of their voices and other human sounds. Then he'd gone back to the first room, and found Sarah asleep, so, no voices. He paused for only a moment to admire the view of the Eiffel Tower at night, before returning to his duty.

His first communication with Beckman had been short and to the point. Jones vindicated, Shaw dead, at his and Sarah's joined hands. Chuck lifted his hand, remembering the feel of Sarah's hand under his own. Remembering the pressure of the trigger, as he'd pushed Sarah's finger down against it. She'd twitched her finger, hadn't she? He'd just been helping her, right?

He felt the gun buck in his hand. No. Not right. No Intersect this time. No reboots necessary.

No reboots possible. He returned to his typing, a fuller version of the report he'd just outlined. _Happy now, Shaw?_

* * *

A little later, half a world away…

Casey was taking his lunch break resting among his guns in the Castle armory when he heard the chime of an incoming communication. He lifted the tray and took it with him to the outer room. It's not like he couldn't clean and reassemble one of these things in his sleep. He touched the 'accept' key and picked up his chamois. "General."

"Colonel." She noted his rather frenetic polishing. "How's the interrogation going?"

"She's at the hospital, she said she had to work," said Casey. "I think it's a ploy. She's trying to get me to drop my guard."

"Hmm, I could use such natural talent," said Beckman. "Too bad it's so narrowly focused. Well. I have some news for you. How it will factor into your defense is unknown."

"You're not deploying me to Paris?" said Casey, disappointed.

Beckman sighed. "I'm afraid it's too late for that."

* * *

Back in Paris…

Sarah's breathing pattern changed, and Chuck stopped typing when he heard it. He looked over to the bed to see her blinking at him, otherwise unmoving. "Hey," he said gratefully, hurrying over to the bed, "How are you feeling?"

"Like someone who got stretched in every direction at once," said Sarah. She braced her arms and pushed herself up to a sitting position, not weak but very sore. "I think I'm going to get that poor secretary a 'sorry we paralyzed you' card when we get back. Something pretty, to brighten her cell."

Chuck smiled, feeling a little guilty for having shot the woman in the first place, enemy agent or no. "I'm sure she'll appreciate that."

Sarah indicated the door to the other room. "How's Jones?"

"I haven't heard anything," said Chuck, suddenly worried that he'd somehow failed some task. He stood up. "I can go and check if you–"

"I'll check, Chuck," said Sarah, flipping the covers back. "Until I'm sure she's capable, I'm responsible. Besides, for some reason she's just never warmed to you, and also I'm the only other person who's taken a Red Test."

Chuck nodded, giving her a hand out of the bed. "Gives you something in common."

"Unfortunately." Sarah hobbled across the room to the other door, closing it gently behind her as she went into the other bedroom.

* * *

Chuck went back to where he'd been, working on his report, the tapping of the keys almost as good as a ticker for keeping him from hearing what was being said, not that he could hear anything being said. When the message chime sounded he accepted right away. "General?"

"Agent Bartowski, what's the status of your team?"

Chuck considered rotating the computer, but there was nothing to see except an unmade bed. "I'm working on my report, Sarah's up and about, a bit sore but capable. She's in the other room with Agent Jones right now."

"And Agent Jones?" said Beckman when he stopped.

"She looked like a zombie going in, General," said Chuck. "But Sarah's been in there a while so hopefully that's a good sign."

"Yes, hopefully," said the General. "I just spoke with Colonel Casey, and we need you to return to LA ASAP."

"Not another mission…"

"You and Jones were virgins, Chuck," said the General. "Neither of you is going back out into the field without some serious couch-time."

General Beckman speaking like Colonel Casey shocked Chuck as few things could. "Yes, ma'am."

"The colonel needs you," continued Beckman. "He's as close to cracking as I've ever seen."

"The Ring…?"

"Your sister."

Chuck began to sweat. "Uh, I'll have to check with Sarah on that, General. She and/or Agent Jones may not be fit to travel for a couple of days yet."

"Agent Bartowski! Your country, and more importantly your partner, needs you!"

Sigh. "Yes, General."

* * *

In the other room…

"Agent Jones?" said Sarah softly. The lights of the City of Light were the only illumination in the room. She could see a blanketed form here, the one she'd been afraid to see in LA.

"Right here," murmured Jones. "Going nowhere."

"That's not true," said Sarah. She walked around the bed to sit in the chair at the desk. "You have a career waiting for you back in DC, if you still want it."

"Will they still want me?" asked Jones, staring straight ahead. "A killer?" _A fool?_

"I'm not saying there won't be some therapy involved," said Sarah, looking at her hands. "I wish there had been some available in my day." She looked up at Jones, who had decided to look at her. "What? It's not like I was born this way. It's not like I want to _be_ this way, either." She shuddered. "Anyway, most of it was Shaw's fault, and Chuck and I will make sure everyone knows it, who needs to know anything."

"Thank you," whispered Jones. "He was going to kill me, wasn't he?"

"Then? Maybe," said Sarah. "Sooner or later, I'm pretty sure. Whenever you caught on to what he was doing, decided not to play the role he wanted you to play. Lucky for you that happened while we were there."

"Because Agent Carmichael came to save _you_ ," said Jones bitterly.

"That's true," said Sarah. "He saved me. Again. But he, we, killed for you. Speaking of therapy. That was his finger pulling the trigger. I can barely move _now_."

Jones may have shrugged under the coverlet, Sarah couldn't tell. "He's killed before."

"No," said Sarah hollowly. "He hasn't." Then she added, for security's sake, "Not like that. And neither have I, not, um, in tandem. Whatever happens to him because of it, will be because of me."

"That'll be a weird one," said Jones. "Couples therapy for a shooting?"

"That's Chuck," said Sarah. " _My_ Chuck. He's one of a kind."

* * *

Someone knocked on his door. "Come–" said Morgan Grimes, and the door slammed open as well as closed, with only the presence of John Casey in the room to indicate the difference. "–in."

"What do you want, Grimes?"

Morgan stood up, trying to reclaim some of the space in the small room for himself. "Well, uh, John, I just wanted to let you know that, due to a, uh, small purchasing error, we will be running a special sale on Beastmasters next week."

Casey studied his nominal superior, as Morgan did his best to appear Assistant Managerial. "Uh-huh. Well, that's certainly good to know in advance," he finally said. He took one step forward, looming over Morgan's desk. "It's also something you could have told me anywhere in the store, so why make a point of calling me into this pest-hole you call an office?"

Morgan ran a finger around his suddenly-tight collar. "Um…well…that is…" Someone tapped on the door. "Excuse me while I answer that," said Morgan, ducking around the corner of his desk as far from Casey as he could get.

Casey stood up, reducing his presence in the room as Morgan opened the door. "Alex, imagine seeing you here!"

"You asked me to come here, Morgan," said a high-pitched female voice, as Morgan backed into the room. A young brunette followed him, younger than Morgan but with more presence. The sense of her flowed into the room, balked only by the presence of a large man behind the door. "Oh."

"Alex, let me introduce my lieutenant assistant manager, John Casey," said Morgan, gesturing feebly between the hard place and the rock, feeling more than a little pinched. "John, this is my girlfriend, Alex McHugh."

"Mr. Casey," said Alex enthusiastically, shaking Casey's hand. Good, strong grip. "I'm so glad to meet you, Morgan talks about you all the time. I feel like I know you already."

Casey shook her hand, gently. He pulled a smile out of storage. "Likewise."

* * *

Somewhere, on a secured line…

"What's our status, A?"

"Currently stable, C," said A, "Although that could change at any moment, if the California team ever recognizes the value of what they have."

"Likelihood on that?" snapped C.

"Impossible to calculate, sir," said an underling. "The presence of Daniel Shaw in California has always been to our advantage. The longer he is absent the higher the odds against us could become."

"His absence is troubling," said A. "D's plan to make him one of us played to all his weaknesses, yet it failed. Efforts are underway to terminate D's aide. Her eventual betrayal is inevitable, but Shaw took some immediate action, cause unknown."

"I'll look into that," said C. "But our plans have never depended on him. We will have to take action against the California team sooner or later, so I say we initiate operations now."

"Agreed," said A. "Whether they do or do not discover what they have will be irrelevant at that point. Either will play into our hands."

"Exactly," said C. "Who knows? With a little ingenuity on our part, maybe we can even get this… Team Bartowski to do our work for us."

* * *

 **A/N2** Here ends this season, with some classic Chuck-style cliffhangerishness. No three-day sex romp on a train. My revision of S3 hasn't been the tragic thing they were aiming for but it is sadder and darker than what came before. The job of next season will be to pull up out of that, as best it can, without sacrificing the Hero's Journey the producers claimed Chuck to be taking. Please drop me a line and tell me what you think of this rewrite so far.


End file.
